


Wish I was the Moon

by SunsetSarsaparillaQuantum



Series: Fig Burns: Sole Survivor? [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: And go OH thats the feeling i was looking for, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Glory Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Romance, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, This Is For You, gender-neutral sole survivor, you ever listen to It Aint Me Babe by Nancy Sinatra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunsetSarsaparillaQuantum/pseuds/SunsetSarsaparillaQuantum
Summary: Sometimes you meet the love of your life and you hear violins and smell flowers. Sometimes, they tell you they stole their shoes off a dead man and your life just never looks quite the same without them in it.
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Sole Survivor, mentioned preston/sturges
Series: Fig Burns: Sole Survivor? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092464
Comments: 31
Kudos: 15





	1. A Rat Man and a General walk into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I've posted in public in 495586 years so uh. Good luck, i guess?? I guess also this belongs to the canon in the way that all fanfiction does. I fixed things in Fallout 4 I thought were stupid. So If you're looking at the time line and going HEY WAIT A MINUTE this doesn't sound right, it's because either a) i can't remember how it goes in the game or b) i thought the way they handle things in Fallout 4 is STUPIDE and i don't want to look at it anymore.  
> check the notes at the end, i made a playlist because im A PROFESSIONAL and I CARE about YOUR ENJOYMENT.

The radio on the bar was grinding out a tune, but the speakers were so old and burned out, it sounded like low buzzing static, with a low hint of melody. 

_"It ain't me BabezzksksjhgNo No No It ain'tzzzksjdjeiqzzz.."_

The Dugout Inn was as crowded as always, especially around eight. Alcohol was flowing freely and the seats were mostly taken. A quiet din of conversation ebbed and flowed like waves, glass clinking on metal, soft laughter, music.

Paul Pembroke and his wife were drinking, Becky from Fallons and Hawthorne playing checkers, Doc Crocker examining faces left and right. Vadim at the Bar, Yefim reading the paper. 

And the sniper from Goodneighbor taking up a space at the bar and refusing to interact. He was wearing his ratty coat, his hat tipped back to let his hair fall forward. He was drinking some foul thing Vadim had mixed him, Nuka Cola and moonshine. It smelled like paint thinner. He looked like he wasn't paying attention to the crowd, but he had his eye on the person he walked in with. 

Fig Burns, Minuteman General, card cheat, pickpocket, known terrible dancer, was making a fool of themself. They had come in sober enough, but they were already three sheets to the wind and growing rowdier with every second spent underground. They were dancing with Piper, twirling her across the floor and singing. Yodeling along with the radio. Nobody had complained... yet. But it was only ever a matter of time. Any small drab of alcohol into Fig, and they'd be singing or whistling and nothing would stop them. There was a reason Fig wasn't allowed to drink in the Third Rail; Magnolia didn't like the competition. 

They might not have been a Diamond City fixture as much as Valentine was, but people seemed to like Fig and would tolerate any number of clownish acts as long as they cleaned up what mayhem usually trailed behind them.

Piper was clinging to the buff lapels of Fig's coat as they spun. Fig nearly took out Yefim with their elbow, but broke out of the dance to bow deeply over him, earning a rare smile and a laugh. And then they were back at it, hugging Piper and dancing back toward the bar. 

"Your boss.. They are a PIRATE, yes?" Vadim was laughing, wiping out a glass with a filthy rag.

MacCready lifted his head and looked over his shoulder, watching as Fig dipped Piper low and they both came up snorting, a shared infectious laugh that Fig always started. 

"They're an absolute criminal." 

He had known them for a year. 

* * *

Their gig was strictly professional. 

Fig had turned up in Goodneighbor with Preston Garvey, a boy scout with the most upright posture MacCready had ever seen. Fig was beaten to hell, their lip split, a huge shiner of a bruise over one eye and a gash down the back of their head. A run in with a group of Super Mutants outside the gate. Fig hadn't been paying attention, it seemed and Garvey had gotten them out of there before they were pulped like old paper. Garvey had dumped them onto the couch in MacCready's 'office' in the VIP room and began to patch them up without any regard for what _he_ , R.J. MacCready was doing there. 

Fig was wobbling around like a big baby, whining when Preston cleaned the gash or applied ointment. MacCready was unimpressed. Just a loud out-of-towner with no sense for downtown Boston. What self respecting member of the Commonwealth got their ass handed to them by an average Super Mutant. Foolish. Garvey left them to get water from the bar, leaving the two of them alone in the VIP room. MacCready could hear Magnolia starting a new song out in the bar and he wanted to get up, to linger by the door and listen. 

The bloody stranger tilted their head to the side, lolling like their puppet string had been cut and they couldn't sit up straight. They slouched over the arm of the sofa and looked MacCready's way. He had already been threatened once that day, Winlock and Barnes gone for the evening. Probably off to bully a small child or steal money from a homeless octogenarian. He was not going to take any crap from the bloody stranger. 

"Got stood up for the Big Dance?" They were grinning, their teeth bloody. They were resting their chin on the arm of the sofa and were fluttering their eyelashes of just one eye, the other was swollen shut.

"This is my office you're sullying."

"Office of..?" 

"I'm for hire."

"Like... by the hour--"

"--A hired GUN."

"OHhhhh...." They were grinning again and MacCready felt an irritation bristling up the back of his neck. He fidgeted slightly in his chair, pushing his feet against the tile and resting his hands casually on the arms. They were still grinning at him. He wondered what they looked like when their face wasn't a mess of blood and swollen tissue. 

"How much?"

"To hire me? 250. But how will I know I won't end up with a bullet in my back?"

"You won't. That's the fun part. 250, you sure?"

"It's non-negotiable."

"Everything is negotiable. These shoes? I negotiated them off of a corpse outside! You'd take 200 I bet." They stood, wiping blood off of their forehead like sweat. Their hair was cut short on one side, showing off a stark black tattoo, a black spiral traveling from just above their ear down the back of their head. They wandered around, walking past where MacCready sat and trailed their fingertips over his bottle of Bourbon, an ashtray. He watched. 

"What? You don't like a little risk? Don't you kill people for a living? If I die on the way out of town, you'll loot my corpse for my money, and sell my guns and clothes to buy yourself a pack of smokes. It's a big win-win for you." They looked at him with their good eye and gave him another disgusting smile. They reached out, palm down, and opened their hand to drop something into his hand. It was a.308 round, common enough but.. MacCready reached up, feeling his hat. One was missing.

"How'd you.." MacCready stared at it for a second, the hollow-point warm in his hand before he reached up and tucked it back into the brim of his cap. The stranger danced back a little bit as MacCready stood.

"You got yourself a gun."


	2. They only take Him to the Nicest Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if your boss made you stand in an abandoned subway tunnel while they repeatedly failed to pick a lock?

"What's the 'RJ' stand for?" Fig was standing on their tiptoes, trying to pick the lock of a locker just above their head.

MacCready took a long drag of his cigarette, toeing a dead feral to the side. He was technically the lookout, but the two of them were the only two with a pulse in the entire tunnel. The train station was a job for Diamond City, caps for clearing out the ferals. He had asked Fig to pick something else. Once. But they were in charge. And promised a quick in and out. They promised to keep the Tunnel Exploration to a minimum and to only loot things that looked worth their time. MacCready agreed.. reluctantly. 

It was obviously more work than the money they'd get out of it, but Fig was the boss. When they weren't helping farmers defend their dirt scraps and shacks, or doing pointless fetch and grab jobs for Garvey, Fig was wandering into wet tunnels filled with monsters for the promise of a cap or two. Fig didn't think the jobs for Garvey were pointless, but they had been bossing MacCready around for a month or two and what they said was law. He would roll his eyes and follow along, grudgingly accepting of what Fig said.

Even if they weren't earning bank. 

"What's the 'RJ' stand for?!" Fig repeated, grunting through a mouthful of bobby pins. They had their baseball cap on backwards and MacCready could see the edge of their tattoo peeking out. His eyes followed the lines, swirling from behind their ear and up under the band of their hat.

He wondered if it had hurt...

"Why do you want to know?"

"Roderick."

"No!"

"R..odger..." The lock clicked open and they stepped back, doing a little hop and trying to see inside. 

"No." 

Fig blindly reached up and felt around inside, withdrawing a tin of Mentats and an ancient 10mm. They tossed him the gun and pocketed the chems. 

"Richelieu." 

"Absolutely not." MacCready snorted.

He could feel water soaking into his boots, but knew better than to complain. Any whining about being wet or slimy would make Fig find the worst gig they could. Hyde Park level wetness. Water to MacCready's pits. They were spiteful sometimes. One wrong comment on the wrong day, and they would purposely choose a gig that would take them to the anus of the commonwealth and conveniently have to send MacCready wading through sewage to rescue some kid's cat, or get a special prize for old Arlen Glass.

They were pretty good about fairness, but a joke could be taken almost too far if Fig was excited about it.

MacCready reached out, offering Fig a drag of his cigarette. Fig didn't take it from his fingers, but leaned forward and puffed lightly. MacCready kept his hand steady as they took a short drag and watched as they exhaled like a dragon, their filthy hands held up in front of them like the paws of an animal. Even the sleeves of their coat were streaked with filth. Fig looked at him, as if considering what he could possibly be named. 

"Rat."

"Fig."

"Rat Jim MacCready."

" _Fig_."

"Robbie. Robert. Bob. Bobby." When MacCready didn't answer, Fig's face lit up. They pointed at him in triumph, fingers filthy with whatever muck they had pawed through to get their meager spoils. 

"It's such a common name. It's barely worth guessing." MacCready didn't want to talk about it, but he felt a warmth in his chest when Fig would look at him like that.

"Robert Janet MacCready. I can't believe you've been keeping it from me this whole time. Is this what our relationship is based on? Lies? It's a beautiful name. I'd name a dog that name!"

Sometimes, they'd leave MacCready wheezing, a laugh he couldn't help. He gave them the rest of his cigarette as they walked toward the steps up out of the pit, his face hurting from smiling.. That wasn't normal for him, smiling like that. He held the door open for the Boss, letting Fig go first. As they passed by him, they stilled for a moment in the doorway, looking into his eyes. 

"I'm gonna keep calling you MacCready. You don't really look like a Robert...." They paused, squinting at him in the low light of the tunnel, " _RAT_ on the other hand..."


	3. Just like the Stars Above Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fig helps Mac with an obligation. Like going to a wedding, but so much worse.

Fig was sitting with their legs hanging into oblivion, wiping blood off their face with the hem of their shirt. MacCready sat to their left, drinking deeply from a dented bottle of purified water. The sunset burned the sky orange into deep blue and far below them, he could see tiny campfires, lights of settlements, and far in the distance, the lights of Diamond City shining into the sky above a stark white. 

The freeway overpass was a crumbling piece of infrastructure for a world the two of them had never gotten the chance to belong to. Behind them, carnage. An entire Gunner checkpoint wiped off the map. Fig had agreed to the plan with an eagerness that unsettled the Mercenary, but they had been traveling together for almost six months before MacCready even suggested it. 

The actual act of killing, the acts of removing the lives from individual Gunners... It was all over so quickly. Fig rarely took their time in unfamiliar places. And MacCready didn't want to stick around if hearts were still beating. But they worked well together. MacCready working with range, Fig getting in close with a terrible looking swatter they bought off Moe Cronin for way less than it was worth. MacCready almost didn't want to watch them work, sometimes. They looked like themselves... but the worst parts of themselves. Painted with someone's blood and letting out loud snarls and growls. 

Fig slipped the bottle of water from MacCready's hands and took a long drink before their unholy burp cut the air. 

"Oh God." MacCready groaned, looking at Fig in disgust. They just smiled, passing the bottle back. 

"Better out than in." They leaned back on their elbows, kicking their legs back and forth in the open air. They never seemed to be scared of anything. They would just.. charge in. No thoughts, just action. They seemed to be the luckiest bastard on the planet, just swinging around wildly and coming out on top. It made MacCready itch sometimes, thinking about the way Fig lived their life.

"Cut that out, you're making me nervous." He reached out, looping his fingers in the back of Fig's battered chestplate, holding them onto the edge of the overpass. 

"This was fun. Nice first date." 

"Glad you enjoyed it." MacCready snorted, watching the wind pick up around them, blowing burned scraps of cloth down off of the overpass and into the valley below. Fig slipped off the filthy red baseball cap they always wore and ran their hands through their sweaty hair. 

The sky above them was darkening, but neither of them made a move to get up, to collect their spoils and beat it. It was still and quiet. Fig took deep breaths and slowly laid down on their back, arms pillowed under their head. It was getting on in October. The nights were growing colder, but snow was a few weeks off. That night was unusually clear and warm, a blue twilight followed by a deep black night with too many stars to count. 

"Last nice night like this... I think I was with Shaun." Fig said slowly, looking at the brilliant stars above them, a map of the heavens. 

MacCready didn't look back at them, taking off his own hat and scrubbing his hands over his face. 

"Your uh.."

"Son. My kid," Fig replied, reaching up to point at the sky, tracing the patterns of constellations they recognized, "He's gone now." 

MacCready didn't know what to say to that. Fig didn't offer personal stuff very often. MacCready had gotten used to being the chatty one, telling the General about his Gunner troubles.. Growing up in the Capital Wasteland. Fig preferred to live in the present, almost never talking about things that happened before they took up with Garvey. He opened his mouth to say something, how he... how he knew what they were feeling, how he understood. 

But Fig reached up instead and tugged on the back of his coat, forcing him to lay down beside them. 

"Look at it.." They breathed, staring up at the ceiling of stars, brilliant and endless and overwhelming, "You don't get this sky in Diamond City." They sighed. MacCready tipped his head to the side, looking at Fig's profile in the light from a burned out turret. Their dark eyes were fixed on the sky above, the light flickering over the upturned curve of their nose and the set of their jaw. They looked... not sad. Not lost. But like they might have been someplace else, thinking of someone else.

"Not a bad view." MacCready said, finally. He rested his hands on his stomach and they laid, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the sky.

"He'd be seven now. Or eight." Fig said, their voice hesitant, soft. MacCready didn't look away from the vaulted sky above them. 

"He looked a lot like me. I thought. Same nose. Same eyes. It's been a while.." Fig paused, swallowing hard before swiping their hand across their eyes and focusing again on the stars. 

"Do you ever wish.. wish you felt less? I think sometimes... Never mind, this is stupid."

"It's not stupid." MacCready said, pressing his shoulder to Fig's as they shifted around beside him. 

"I just feel like I might.. I might feel too much. I miss him. And I am afraid... I am afraid to let Preston down. To let other people down."

MacCready tipped his head to the side and stared at them for a moment.

"You uh.. You couldn't let Preston down. He thinks you walk on water."

"Fig 'Jesus' Burns."

"You know what I mean."

"I know. I just uh. I wish I could... I wish I were like the Moon. Just up there in the silence. Looking down on everyone."

"That sounds lonely." MacCready breathed. Fig dropped their hand from their eyes, letting it fall between them. MacCready hesitated before lightly squeezing Fig's hand. They squeezed back. 

"Oh no, I'd have you with me. You'd be in charge of the Moon's schedule. I'd keep you up there."

"I'd die!"

"You'd have a house! I'm not a monster."

MacCready laughed, looking back up at the sky above them. Fig was laughing too, and quietly let go of Mac's hand, but not before giving it another little squeeze. The night grew dark around them and far below, someone was playing the guitar. Fig didn't sit up, or move to leave. Neither did MacCready. They laid for a long time, just watching the stars trail across the night's sky, alone above the Wasteland, shoulder to shoulder. 

Not a bad first date. 


	4. Impact, Division

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fig is a nightmare to care for.

Fig and MacCready would sometimes take short breaks from traveling, Mac heading back to Goodneighbor to earn some money while Fig did some Minuteman nonsense with Garvey or one of their other goody-goody friends. MacCready had plans to return to the Castle in a couple of weeks as they had agreed, but got word, through a flustered Codsworth that not only did Fig not want him to come back, but that they weren't even at the Castle anymore.

"Sanctuary Hills? What the heck are they doing all the way up there? That's a six hour walk in good weather!" MacCready was helping Daisy load supplies onto a brahmin bound south, and all Codsworth was doing was hovering and twirling. 

"I'm afraid they're rather ill, Master MacCready. They insisted that you not come back into their services until they could come retrieve you themselves."

"They're sick? What do you mean? Like a cold? Or what?" MacCready paused, holding a large box of tightly packed gourds, smooth and orange in soft golden hay. Codsworth clanked slightly and did a small spin.

"They simply insisted that if they were to infect _you_ , they would never forgive me. So I was instructed to tell you to continue working here in this... ah... storied metropolis for the time being." 

MacCready set the box down on Daisy's counter and ran a hand through his hair. Fig was an absolute terror when injured, MacCready knew that first hand. But he also knew if Fig was at their digs at the Red Rocket, and Codsworth was in Goodneighbor, that meant nobody was taking care of them. And Fig was absolutely no good at caring for themselves when they were out of commission.

"Lemme guess, they're sending you on a big loop. You have to tell everyone in the tri county area not to bother them while they convalesce?"

"Quite right, sir. I'm off to the Castle and then down to Somerville Place and back up again. A good four day trip. I'm quite...er... thrilled to see what nature the Commonwealth has for me!" 

"You get on with that then. I'll uh.. be right here. Until Fig comes to get me." MacCready lied, like a liar. 

* * *

The actual trip to the Rocket wasn't terrible. He was one man, he was small and he was fast. He made good time and by the time he had passed through the Abernathy's farm and had traded for his supper, it was only about eight in the evening. The shadows were long and monstrous, but Mac wasn't easily spooked, unless he was tired or had been looking through his scope too long. 

He came up on the back of the Rocket, noting that Fig had the roof turrets in working order, but the water pump looked like it needed a repair or two, and the tiny garden Fig had planted was looking long in the tooth. 

He came around the side of the building, checking for any secret creatures, but found the place quiet and dead. Fig's half collapsed lawn chair was out front, covered in old leaves. Two baskets nearby with different sorted metals. They'd do that while MacCready kept watch sometimes. But right then, it was quiet. Not even a radio playing.

Was it all a joke? Did Codsworth send him up there as a prank? 

But one huge sneeze cut the air and MacCready rolled his eyes. 

"Fig?" He called out. He pushed the sliding door open and poked his head into the front hall.

It was dark, the air still and heavy. Like the place had been closed up for a few days.

Another sneeze answered him from the garage bay.

He came around the corner and squinted into the darkness. Where there had once been a power armor bay and weapon bench, piles of tools and toxic chemicals, Fig had installed a camp cot, a couch and a low flat coffee table stocked with what looked like only snack cakes and bottles of water. Fig was wrapped in a ball of blankets on the sofa, only their face peeking out. 

"Mac?" They croaked, "I told Codsworth to leave you in Goodneighbor. Don't come in here!" They sounded terrible. 

"What? I heard you were sick. It's so dark in here." He stepped into the room, instantly slamming his shin into a box and tripping. He grabbed at the wall and scowled in the direction of Fig's sneeze, earning a soft, snotty sounding laugh. 

"I told you not to come in."

"Let me light a lamp. Jesus. Did you make this mess yourself?"

"I have a system." Fig snuffled. MacCready lit the lantern on the workbench and peered around Fig's little room. Fig and MacCready had similar ideas on how homes should look. Gaudy furniture, ugly lamps, novelty posters. Things that lit up and spun. Fig's prized possession was a leopard printed fainting couch, a hideous monster of a sofa that was probably housing mold and fungus and critters. They had schlepped it all the way from some Cambridge back alley to the 'bar' at the Castle. It was Garvey's problem to deal with and Fig's to dream about.

Their living space in the Rocket was kitted out with a functional workbench, a big red sofa and a beautiful painting of a kitten dressed like a Cosmonaut. There was a yellow glass lamp on the bench behind the sofa and a heavy set of yellow curtains framing the garage door.

The Rocket was always a mess, but with their illness, Fig had apparently stopped cleaning up at all, letting their trash pile artfully around the couch.

MacCready pushed some trash out of the way with his boot and came around the table to sink down next to Fig on the couch. He grunted softly with the effort and looked toward the General. They turned to face him, their face pale and creepy, nose bright red and irritated. 

"Have you eaten anything other than Fancy Lads?" He asked, gesturing at the trash strewn about. He was using his 'reasonable voice' a thing Fig hated, but they rested their head on the back of the couch with a wheezy sigh. 

"I get dizzy when I stand up. I tried to make soup, but I'm so tired.." They said, sounding pathetic and small, but MacCready wasn't taken in for a second.

"Why did you send Codsworth out then? You're up here alone! What if something happened?" MacCready tossed his bag down on the floor and got up again. 

"I'll make you some soup. Are you wearing dry socks?" He earned a scowl from the sick General, but one of Fig's feet appeared from the blanket nest, indeed wearing dry socks. 

* * *

Twenty minutes later, a fairly awful soup in both their bellies, MacCready had cleared away any trash Fig didn't instantly claim was important, and had arranged their blankets so they could sleep. He found a pillow in one of Fig's storage trunks and helped the General lay down, tucking the blankets around them. Between their feet, he placed a hot water bottle and folded the blankets back down. Fig protested weakly, but didn't move too much, resting on their elbows. 

"I didn't want to get you sick." They rasped, looking up at the sniper with their pathetic 'I am very sick' eyes. MacCready rolled his eyes and peeled his coat off to throw over his bag. He was setting up the cot for himself before he noticed how quiet Fig had gotten. They were shivering, even under their sweaters, a coat of their own and two blankets. 

Mac reached out, pressing his cold palm to Fig's forehead. They were burning up, but let out a soft sigh of relief at Mac's icy hand on their skin.

"Am I dying? Is this how I go?" They whined softly, pressing their cheek against his hand. He felt the raised pattern of their scar, brushing his thumb against it. 

"You're not dying! You have a cold. And you should have stayed at the Castle. They have doctors there." He muttered, grabbing his coat and carefully tucking it over Fig's body. He tucked it around them tightly, putting it up under their chin as if they were a baby. 

"I wasn't sick at the Castle. I.. I fell in the river between here and Sanctuary.. And I forgot to change my socks.." They mumbled, not looking up at MacCready. He let out a low burst of laughter and stood up straight. 

"I can't believe you. You're in charge of other people! You run a militia!" He paused, noticing Fig's wounded little face and sighed, "I'm sorry. Go to sleep. It could happen to anyone. I'll be just over here." 

He took the lantern to his cot to read a comic or two and make sure Fig wasn't ill during the night, but as he settled down, he could just hear Fig's soft voice from the blankets.

"MacCready.."

"Yeah, Boss?" He asked, leaning up against the wall.

"Thanks for coming.."

Mac smiled to himself, watching as Fig's body went still and he could hear their soft, ragged breathing from beneath their blankets. He didn't sleep, not right away, but sat up in case Fig needed anything. He didn't mind. Not rotten work, not when it was Fig.


	5. I can only talk about my feelings if one of us almost dies, that is the rule.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac & Fig almost eat shit and die!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does MacCready's hat count as a character? Also, I know nothing about two things: First Aid & Guns. This chapter has both.

_Fifty, Forty-Nine, Forty-Eight..._

“Stay awake.”

_Forty-Seven, Forty-Six, Forty-Five..._

“Mac, Damnit, keep your eyes open.”

_Forty-Four, Forty-Three, Forty-Two..._

“I gotta put you down, hold on.”

* * *

It was Fig's fault, they knew it.

The raiders outside Andrew Station had been there for weeks and Fig thought it would be an easy gig, hop in, clear it out, back to the Castle for supper. But Mac's leg had smashed through a piece of rotten plywood and he fell twelve feet from the roof of the station onto a pool table. And then Fig realized that they were seriously outnumbered. And outgunned. And Fig was not strong enough to carry their friend. The actual fighting was brutal and Fig could feel their own blood soaking into their pants. They could feel a burning pain radiating down their leg.

But the worst part.. they could feel how heavy Mac was getting as they carried him.

He was trying to help, they knew that. He was stumbling, arm around their neck, their arm around his waist. He was trying. But Mac was getting heavier and heavier.. And the rest of the Chancer's gang was hot on their tail. Fig fell against the side of a building, propping Mac against the weathered siding, his head lolling heavily onto their shoulder. He smelled like pennies.

“We've got fifty feet to that alley. Can you count down? Count down for me?” Fig gasped, slapping his cheeks. He groaned, his head falling forward and his hat fell to the ground. Fig left it behind.

“Count down.” Fig demanded, dragging him through a puddle and up against the side of a house. His voice was soft, muffled against their shoulder. He was counting, they were pretty sure...

They pulled his backup gun from the waistband of Mac's pants, loosing a round toward the raiders. They heard someone fall, a grunt, and the two of them continued. He was getting heavier. Fig was stumbling. A series of trash cans were stacked near a burned out house and Fig carefully set Mac down, tucking him in the alcove behind the trash.

“Stay here.” They crouched, slapping his cheek again, holding him up by his hair. He blinked his eyes open, staring up at Fig with bleary blue eyes.

“Boss...?” He groaned. He had blood in his hair and he looked terrible. He lifted his hand, pressing his palm to their cheek for a second. He left a hot smear of blood. Fig took his hand away from their face and pressed the back up gun into his hands, molding his fingers to the grip, the trigger.

“Don't shoot me.” They said firmly before sliding their own hat off their head and slipping it on over Mac's bleeding scalp.

Fig grabbed their swatter and moved. They limped down one side of the alley, waiting for the last couple of Raiders, only four..

_There were only four._

Fig could _totally_ handle that... They were slower than normal. They were bleeding. Their partner and back up was bleeding out and maybe dying behind a trashcan. They could handle it.

The first raider came around the corner with a low, crazy laugh. Fig swung. The crack of swatter meeting skull radiated up Fig's arms and made them nearly fall on their ass.

_There were only three._

Fig choked up on the swatter and half crouched against the wall, waiting until the second one swung around the corner. They got off a shot, the crack of the gun making Fig's ears ring and they swung blind. The swatter connected with the Raider's jaw.

They dropped, Fig dropped.

Fig felt over their chest, stomach, legs. They hadn't been hit, but each swing made their arms and chest burn and they were having trouble focusing...

“Why don'tcha just give up, Rookie!” A man's voice.

There were two left. Fig struggled, using the building to leverage themselves to stand, before lifting the swatter again. They could do it.

_Only two left._

“Times up.”

The voice was so much closer than Fig thought it would be. They lifted their swatter, but the man came around the corner so fast and had a hand on it before Fig could swing.

“Peek-A-Boo.”

He had a skeleton face. It was painted on over his face. Fig felt cold all over. He had a skeleton face and he was smiling. Fig fumbled, trying to get their stupid 10mm out of the leg pocket of their pants. It was useless, they never had skill with guns. That was Mac's job, Deacon's job, Preston's job. Fig was not a gun nut. But he was too close to use the swatter and Fig couldn't get leverage to move. And he had a big ass fucking knife.

He was still grinning when the bullet ripped a chunk out of his face and he hit the ground like a sack of tatoes. The sound was an explosion and Fig felt a ringing in their left ear. The last guy ran out of his covered position and he was dropped too, both headshots, both fast.

Fig looked, turning back toward the trash cans and there he was. _Rat_.

MacCready was using the can as a brace, holding himself up with his rifle rested against it. He wobbled slightly, looking across the acres of space between them, lifting a hand to give Fig a little thumbs up before he fell backwards onto the ground. Fig grabbed their swatter back from the dead man, snatching Mac's hat off the ground and limped back to Mac's prone body.

“Nice shooting, Cowboy.”

“Didn't want to let ya' down, boss.” Mac groaned, putting his arms up as Fig helped him to his feet.

* * *

Fig's emergency camp was nestled on the roof of a half collapsed building. They bandaged their own leg and took a hit of Med-X, half a stim, and went to work on Mac. His leg was cut to hell and he had something wrong with his ankle. They weren't a doctor, their field medic training went from 'Are they bleeding to death' to 'Can they walk' and that was about it. Fig had to cut the fabric from his pants on one leg, a beautiful half pair of shorts, showing off his shredded thigh and his very skinny leg.

“One of your parents was a chicken, huh?” Fig's voice was muffled. They were working on MacCready's leg with his coat thrown over them, the light of a portable lantern obscured by his gross coat.

“Leave me alone, I grew up in a cave. I didn't eat a balanced meal until last year.” Mac groaned, covering his eyes as Fig splashed antiseptic on his wounds. He let out a low yelp and pressed his hand over his mouth. They put pressure on his leg and carefully wrapped the sterile bandages over his thigh.

“Cave boy.. Rat boy.. Where will he go, what will he do...” Fig sang under their breath as they carefully wrapped a clean bandanna over the bandages and patted his leg, “There you go, your life has been saved.” Fig extinguished the lamp and threw his coat off, sitting up.

Night had crept up on them... They knew they were a fifteen minute walk to the Castle, but they were both injured and Fig wasn't sure they could make it in their state. Their plan had been to send up a flare, but checking their bag, they realized they had left them back at the Castle, because why would they need it, _it was only a quick job_.

Fig leaned back against the wall, sitting beside MacCready and looking at the building across the alley.

“So, Robert.”

“Oh, gross. Don't say it that way.”

“Bobby.”

“Stop it, I have a concussion.” He whined, looking at Fig.

Fig grinned, resting their head back against the wall and offering MacCready his hat back. His hair was flattened with blood, but Fig had already roughly bandaged him. He set his cap back on top of his bandages and Fig gave him a little once over.

“Oh, much better.” They were smiling, a broad, true smile, “Suits you. The bandages, I mean. You're really a looker if I can't see your beady little eyes.”

“Hey! I'll have you know I am a very handsome man. Women have expressed interest in me. Carnally.”

“Oh _absolutely_ not.”

“Piper has.”

“Piper thinks you have scabies.”

“Fig!”

“Rabies.”

“Fig.” He looked at them, that same pathetic look from under his bandages. Fig sighed and reached into their bag, rooting around for a minute before withdrawing a crumbling comic book, the cover streaked with Fig's bloody fingerprints.

“Fine. Peace offering.” They held the book up, letting Mac grab it and peer at the title in the watery moonlight.

“Grognak and.. the.. What does this say. Why did you slime it up with your blood?”

“It's YOUR blood! This is a gift!” Fig sputtered, slapping his shoulder. MacCready looked over at them with a fond smile and then back down at the comic.

“Sorry boss. I appreciate it. Thank you.”

They were quiet for a while. Fig fished a beer out of their bag and cracked it open, pocketing the cap. As Mac tried to read by moonlight, the two of them passed the beer back and forth until it was empty and Fig shoved the bottle back into their bag. It was weak shit, some homebrew they bought off a traveling salesman.

They were slouched down, nearly asleep, head resting on Mac's shoulder when he let out a soft laugh.

“I've never read this one before. He's fighting this.. this big Ice Worm. And he's stuck in the snow and he's really in trouble. Can you believe that his partner just swings in and takes out the worm. Rescues him.” MacCready held the page up, trying to squint at the tiny words.

Fig stretched, groaning softly and letting their head rest back on MacCready's shoulder.

“Am I Grognak?” They murmured. MacCready looked over at them, seeing their eyes closed, head heavy.

“Maybe..”

“I grew up in Woonsocket. I'm not afraid of the snow. We got snow.”

“Woonsocket...”

“I only have the accent if I say 'pahking laht.' please don't look at me.” Fig yawned again. MacCready let out a delighted laugh, still obviously looking at his boss.

“Say it again!”

“No. If you make me do this like a party trick, I will unbandage your leg.”

“Pahhhking Laaahhht.” MacCready laughed. Fig scowled up at him, sitting all the way up, as if they were going to sleep somewhere else. Mac grabbed their coat, forcing Fig to settle back down again.

“So you're actually from the East. From here. From... Woonsocket.”

“Like couple hours south. But yeah. It used to be Rhode Island. I had big plans. Have a kid, get a job, live out the American Dream. And then, you know. Things happened. Now I'm here. I never used a gun before I met Preston. They scared me.”

“Could have fooled me. You don't seem scared of anything.” MacCready smoothed the comic over his good thigh, feeling where his blood had soaked into the paper.

“Oh god. I was afraid all the time. I was scared of war and killing and hunger and being poor. I grew up poor... I was afraid something would happen to Shaun. I was afraid of the Bomb, and I was afraid one day, gravity would reverse and I'd get sucked into space. Stupid stuff. I couldn't control it.”

“But now...?”

“I dunno. My... Jamie died. And the Institute took Shaun. And the world I had been so afraid of... It happened. It happened despite me being afraid of it. And people were kind of okay? They were still living and working and having kids.. And it was okay. So I kind of lost that same fear I had.” Fig murmured, their head heavy on MacCready's shoulder. Their fingers were carefully tracing the bandanna on his thigh, the whorls and loops of the fabric print.

“Sorry. About Jamie. And your kid.”

“Thanks. I mean.. I dunno. It's okay. I miss them. Them both. But I don't think Jamie would like this world. They liked NICE things. Soft things. Pretty things. They were the one who made shit worth looking at or touching or eating. I try to imagine them here and.. It's just a blank space.” Fig murmured. MacCready carefully reached out, linking their hands together for a moment.

He squeezed. Fig squeezed back.

“So about Grognak.” Fig grinned, their voice low and wobbly, like they had swallowed down a lump.

“Oh, my favorite subject.” MacCready laughed.

And that night, MacCready read to Fig, his voice low and gentle. Fig's head was heavy, but they didn't fall asleep, not for a long time. They listened as their best friend read them a two hundred year old comic, his voice traveling like a soft cloud over the roofs of uninhabited houses. Something really soft and pretty and nice about that. Maybe Jamie would have approved. 


	6. It Ain't Me, Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready may have forgotten to let Fig in on some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am updating multiple times a day this week BECAUSE I have time off of work and no obligations BUT I go back in two days. So. Basically. I have to finish this beast before I go back to work. Or else I will die. I assume. Tip your baristas.

_"It ain't me BabezzksksjhgNo No No It ain'tzzzksjdjeiqzzz.."_

So there they were.

MacCready watched Fig twirl the reporter around the floor, both of them drunk as hell. Fig had been steadily sipping from a bottle of scotch with a straw. They had been doing that more and more lately, drinking, sleeping.. Less jokes, more irritation.

MacCready had noticed. Piper had noticed, Garvey had noticed. Even Deacon had asked MacCready about it. He didn't know what to say.

They had been under a lot of stress... Taking care of the Minutemen and working on setting up settlements, helping the Railroad, working with that clanking blowhard Paladin Danse for the Brotherhood. They seemed to be being pulled in a lot of directions at the same time. And more than once, MacCready had caught them just staring at nothing. Or, when they thought they were alone, crying. Silent tears, face mashed into their knees. He wasn't any good at talking about emotions, he usually left that to Preston or Piper. He and Fig.. they would talk. If one of them were injured. Or almost died. Or had a big messy fight someplace and needed to express a thought.. But just going up to them and saying 'Hey pal, how is your brain? How are your thoughts doing?', that felt.. weird. Wrong.

But that night, they seemed in high spirits. They swung Piper in a big circle and came to a stop, giggling and leaning on her. Their face was streaked with dirt, green paint, baseball cap lost on the floor someplace. Piper guided them toward the bar, covertly taking the bottle from their hand and passing it to MacCready. 

"Noooo!" Fig laughed, making grabby hands for it, but MacCready held it up out of their reach and they scowled at him, a mean look before bursting into laughter again. 

"Ratman! Give that back! Piper!" They laughed, sinking onto the stool beside MacCready. Piper fished their cap out from under the couch and dusted it off, smushing it over their unruly hair. 

"I'm going home to sleep. You take care of yourself." She gave Fig a tight little hug and Fig sniffled, wrapping both arms around Piper's middle, pressing their face against her side and cuddling into her like she were a teddy bear. Piper pressed a kiss to the top of Fig's hat, her eyes meeting MacCready's. It was a look that meant something, but MacCready didn't understand.

"I love you, Piper!" They gasped, a little blubbering whine in their voice, like an overtired child. Piper laughed against the top of their head and let go, giving MacCready a little salute before making her way out of the bar and up the hallway to the outside. Fig watched her go, clinging to the edge of the bar for leverage before wobbling around to face MacCready. 

"Dance with me!" They demanded, staring at him with a big smile. From misery at Piper's departure, to delight in two seconds. Fig was exhausting. 

"Don't know how. Never learned." He looked straight ahead, taking a slow sip. 

Fig wrapped their fist in his jacket, tugging on him and jiggling him from side to side.

"Don't be a dick! Dance with me!"

MacCready let his head drop down and groaned, looking over at the drunk General, their eyes bright and eager. "People will stare."

"So! Grow a spine, Rat Jim! Dance with me!" Fig wobbled to their feet and put out both hands, grabbing the reluctant mercenary and tugging him to his feet. The music was still terrible, still a buzzing mess, but Fig threw their arms around his neck and began to sway back and forth. MacCready stood still for a moment, glancing around. 

"Nobody is looking, Mac." Fig grinned, pressing their forehead to MacCready's forehead, making them both go cross eyed, "Not a soul. Don't be such a chicken. If you don't play along, I'll sing. I swear I will!"

MacCready pulled back, rolling his eyes as he rested his hands on Fig's hips and they began to sway. Really, nobody was looking. Fig relaxed as soon as MacCready started playing along, swaying with them. They happily wrapped their fingers in the collar of his shirt, tugging lightly as he walked them in a slow circle.

"I think I'm going to buy a dog." Fig sighed, resting their head on his shoulder for a moment, as if to orient their internal compass. Their face felt hot against Mac's shoulder and he wanted to lift his cold hand and press it to their cheek.

"And name it Robert."

"Yeah! How did you know?!"

MacCready snorted, closing his eyes as they swayed, "You tell me this every day. 'Mac, I'm going to buy a dog and name it after you. Mac, I'm going to adopt a Mutant Hound and name it Robert. Mac, I found a rad pup rat thing and he looks JuSt LiKe YoU!' Every day with this shi-- Stuff." 

"Shit." Fig reached up, tugging off MacCready's hat and perching it on top of their head, on top of their hat, "You can say 'shit', it's okay. I won't tell anyone. Say 'Shit'. I'll give you a cap." 

"I don't curse. I promised someone I wouldn't."

"A nun?"

"What's a nun? No. My uh... My Son." He looked at Fig then, both hats on their head and they had stopped dancing. They were looking at him with wide, dark eyes. And Mac had to mentally backtrack. Fig didn't know...

"Where is he?"

"My son? Back uh.. Back at the farm." 

"Alone? Is he a baby? A kid? What are we talking here? Why didn't you tell me about him?" Fig wobbled a little, leaning back from him and trying to get their eyes to focus on him. 

"He's not alone, there are people taking care of him. But you know what my job is. I can't have a kid with me when I'm making sure you don't die doing some dumb stunt." He regretted that as soon as it was out of his mouth. Fig, rarely one for hurt feelings, was fairly drunk and they lurched out of his arms, batting his hat off of their head and wobbling toward the room they had rented. 

"Wait!" MacCready followed behind, snatching his hat off the ground. Fig struggled with the old lock on the door before they pushed, instead of pulling, and stormed inside of room Two.

MacCready was right behind. Fig tried to close the door on his face, but it bumped into his foot first and they stumbled back, legs hitting the ancient coffee table and they sat down hard, letting out a little grunt. 

MacCready stepped into the room, looking at his boss as if they had never met before.

"What has gotten into you?" He eased the door closed behind him, ducking out of the way as Fig whipped their hat at him. 

"You have a whole KID I didn't know about! We go everywhere together! He.. You don't.. Don't you miss him?" Fig blurted, staring up at him, and for the first time, MacCready realized that their eyes were filling with tears.

"I don't tell everyone about him." Mac slowly crouched down in front of them, reaching out as if to soothe Fig, his hands almost closing on their bony knees, but Fig squirmed to the side, blinking furiously.

"I'm not just anyone!" They repeated, their tears falling, making little plopping noises on the weather treated fabric of their coat. 

"You're my boss, you.. hired me.. I mean..." He trailed off. It sounded hollow. Fig... was his friend.

But that was the wrong thing to say, Fig had stopped crying. Their face flushed with rage, brows heavy and drawn down over their dark eyes. 

"I'm just your boss! Okay, You're fired. Go find a new boss to not tell about your kid for a YEAR."

"You don't mean that."

"A year! A whole year! Three hundred and seventy days."

"Three sixty five."

"GET OUT!" Fig sputtered, jumping up and nearly falling on their ass as they pushed the coffee table back with their calves and tried to storm around MacCready. He stood up just as fast, and grabbed Fig's arm.

"I don't tell people about my son, I'm sorry. I don't know why I didn't tell you about it." Fig shrugged him off, swatting his hands away from their arms. 

"I thought you were my friend. You.. I.. Everyone wants something from me except you. And I thought we were friends. And I didn't have to worry about you keeping secrets from me. And I lov--..." They paused, suddenly looking at MacCready like he had grown a second head.

"Don't babies usually take two people?"

MacCready was already shaking his head, "They do, but--" 

"You got a secret wife _AND_ secret baby? Or did you steal him?"

"I had a wife. _Had_." MacCready didn't usually feel so out of his element, but secret son, dead wife..

Fig looked lost. Entirely lost.

Their argument had been: MacCready wrong and a liar. But he had a wife. And she had died. Fig thought of Jamie. Fig thought of Jamie's face and Shaun...

"Do you not trust me?" Fig reached out, thumping their fingertip into the disgusting fabric of MacCready's coat.

He didn't know how to answer that. The pause... it went on for ages. The silence grew. The color in the room shifted from angry red, to a cool, spooky blue.

And Fig slowly stepped back from him and sat heavily on the bed. It creaked below them, a scream of ancient springs. 

"Okay, you can go now. I am firing you. Leave." They flopped down on the mattress and rolled onto their side, facing away from the door, "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." 

MacCready didn't move right away, standing next to the door like someone had socked him. It was too much. And he didn't... know what to say. Not to fix it, he didn't know if that was possible. 

"My wife died and I left Duncan behind so I could get work. The farm isn't... I'm no good at that stuff. And I can't do what I do and take care of a kid. I joined up with the Gunners and..." He trailed off, staring at the back of Fig's head. They didn't move, curled up tight, head pillowed on one of their arms.

"...You named your only kid 'Duncan'...?" Fig's voice was kind of muffled, but MacCready let out a surprised gasp of laughter, painful in his chest and he covered his eyes for a second, feeling the burn of tears there. Who was he crying for?

"It was Lucy's dad's name." 

Fig rolled over, sitting up on their elbows, looking at the mercenary, "I might be the world's worst parent. My kid got snatched by the Institute... My fault. But I think you should go see your son. If you've been with me for this long, what's he doing? I'd want my dad to visit me. Uh, if he wasn't dead." Fig swallowed hard. MacCready was still in the same place, looking like an old coat rack, his arms awkwardly hanging. 

"MacCready. Go. Get out of here. How much do I have to pay you to go see your only kid? You have that option. Your kid is alive." Fig sat up, reaching into the endless pocket of their ugly pants, rooting around until they found a bag of caps. 

"Five hundred. Go." Fig threw the caps at him, watching him catch the bag out of the air. MacCready was still standing, looking for at the General. Fig was sitting up on their elbows, the way they did early in the morning when Mac made too much noise and they were fixing to yell at him. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. Everything was wrong. He did that. He made everything wrong. Mac's fingers twitched and he had an itch, something he wanted so deeply...

MacCready finally moved then, leaning over Fig on the bed and throwing his arm around their shoulders. He could hear the shocked inhale of breath from Fig, feeling their hot, tear streaked cheek pressed to the side of his head. The hug was brutal and awkward, two bony creeps embracing. Mac pressed his face against Fig's shoulder for a moment before he lurched back. He grabbed his duffle bag off the floor and his hat from where it had fallen from his hand. He paused, hand on the doorknob, and looked back at the General. 

"I uh.. Take _care_ of yourself." He managed, pulling the door inward and stepping out into the hall. 

The door closed behind him. 


	7. Bingo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, Cowboy.

So what if they hadn't seen each other in over a month. 

So what that Fig had been asking around about MacCready and he had been asking around about them. So what that they hadn't met up or crossed paths despite Boston being a small place and they had an interlocking circle of friends which included most of the town of Goodneighbor. 

So what. 

It wasn't on purpose. 

It had nothing to do with the fact that Fig said some things while drunk that couldn't be taken back or the fact that MacCready had bruised Fig's ideas of friendship and trust and what they had together.

It had nothing to do with the fact that MacCready had taken the caps Fig had thrown at him and had gotten so far out of town that nobody knew where he went and Fig actually thought, for a terrible couple of days, that he had died and they'd never see him again.

It had NOTHING to do with MacCready hearing that some rando had operated a jury rigged teleporter and had beamed into the institute, coming out apparently unscathed. They were reported wearing a red baseball cap and a pirate costume. So what that that seemed stupid and dangerous and foolish. It had nothing to do with MacCready. He wasn't worried at all. He had his own problems. His own things to deal with.

So when MacCready heard that Fig was in Goodneighbor, he almost.. didn't want to leave the bar. He heard it from a drifter, but earned a look from both Whitechapel Charlie AND Magnolia, both of them fixing their eyes on him. He didn't move, slowly sipping his beer and refusing to move from his stool.

"You hear that? Fig is in town. Above us. Right now." Magnolia swirled her glass around, ice clinking in the water. MacCready nodded, focusing on the bar. 

"I heard that. Just now. When you heard it." He glanced at the singer and shrugged, "What! Magnolia, What? What should I do? Beg forgiveness? No. I won't. I don't beg." He said, firm, resolute. 

"I bet you don't, tiger, but the General is coming down the stairs right now. And they're lookin' at y-o-u." Magnolia slid off her stool, wandering back toward the stage as MacCready turned around. 

Fig was standing on the steps, gripping the handrail and staring. They looked.. worse than when MacCready had left, paler, big circles under their eyes. Their usual pirate getup was gone, replaced by a set of serious combat armor and possibly the rattiest jeans known to mankind. Their tattoo stood out on stark pale skin like a brand. They met Mac's eyes and then turned, rushing back up the stairs. 

"Wait!" MacCready called out, sliding off his stool and nearly taking himself out, his coat caught on the damn thing. He wrestled himself free and sprinted, rushing through the crowded floor, around tables and people eating. He took the stairs two at a time, catching Fig on the landing. They wriggled their arm out of his grasp, but MacCready grabbed their hands instead, holding onto them.

"I wanted.. I'm sorry." He gasped, surprised at how out of breath he was. Fig stared at him, squinting a little as he wheezed. He stared right back,trying to take normal breaths and not choke on nothing, "I'm really sorry. I know what I said.. I know it made you think we aren't friends, or I don't care--" 

"I'm sorry for what I said about you kid. Your wife. I was being a uh, an _asshole_." Fig said, hesitating a little before closing their eyes, still trying to move out of MacCready's arms, as if they were two magnets with opposite polarity, as if having MacCready's hands on their skin hurt them.

MacCready searched their face, slowly letting go of their hands, but reached out, looping a finger in the strap of their armor. 

"Fancy duds.."

"It's for work."

"Your normal gig? You look different... Get tired of your hair?" Fig's half shaved 'do was gone, their head buzzed short all over. They looked like a beautiful egg. MacCready kept that thought to himself.

"It's been a while." They paused, looking at MacCready with a hard little frown, "You've been gone a while." 

MacCready froze, his hand curled around the shoulder strap of Fig's armor, holding them still, but it was like he didn't know what to say first. He had questions. Things he wanted to tell them. His heart thudded in his ears and he opened his mouth to speak.

Fig let out a low sigh, covering their eyes with one hand. MacCready noticed they had freckles. Real freckles. Had he never seen them before? They dusted over Fig's nose like cinnamon. 

"You're going to ask me for something. I can smell it. You want my help with something. Go ahead." They sounded resigned. Exhausted.

"My son."

"Dunkie."

"Duncan."

"Dunkle."

"He's sick, okay? I need.. He's got this sickness. I don't know where he got it, what it's from. He's.. I think he's dying. I got back to the farm, and He's just.. He's so weak and I..." MacCready's voice cracked and he sort of sagged forward. His eyes burned, prickling, tears coming even though he didn't want them to. Fig reached up, planting their hands on his shoulder to hold him upright. 

"You got a lead? There's at least one haunted, evil fucking hospital in fifty feet of where we're standing right now.. What do we do?" They asked.

They were already in Minuteman Mode. How can they help? Fix the problem.

_What can Fig do for YOU?_

Mac stared at them, his heart pounding in his ears.

"You want to help me? A..After everything? You just.. Just like that?" He swallowed down the lump in his throat, feeling Fig's strong hands on his shoulder. 

"I'm your employer. It's my job. I need to take care of my underlings." Fig arched a brow, an ironic quirk of their mouth that was almost a smile.

"You're not my boss, my god. I'm sorry I said that. You're more than that. You're my friend and.. And..." He trailed off. 

The energy changed. Right then. It felt like when he looked down the sight and saw an easy mark. Something electric prickled along the back of Mac's neck and he looked at Fig as if he was seeing them for the first time. Freckles. Flecks of gold in their deep brown eyes. Sooty lashes. And Mac felt...

He lifted his hand, gently bringing it up to cup the side of Fig's face, the side with their deep scar. He always liked that scar, proof of survival. Fig called it their Personal Birth Control. Mac traced his thumb over the contour of the rough skin, feeling it's uneven texture beneath his thumb. 

"Fig.." He breathed.

Fig looked confused for a moment, staring at their friend, employee.. lackey. Their personal sniper. A man who had saved their life more than once. Who had sat on the roof of a burned out house and shared a beer and talked about comics, the Commonwealth, what they wanted out of life... About feeling alone and afraid. 

They could hear the thunder of blood rushing in their ears and their face was flushed. MacCready was _right there_. Right There. Looking at them in a way Fig hadn't had for a long time, especially not from someone they cared about like they cared about MacCready. Fig's eyes closed and they leaned into the moment, going very still as MacCready leaned in. They could feel his breath on their mouth and the atoms in Fig's body realigned to feel that heat.

And then he stopped. And pulled back.

"Oh god. I'm sorry. I'm not.. Uh." MacCready let go of their armor, stepping back, out of their orbit. He looked sweaty, nervous. Fig wobbled for a second, blinking their eyes open. 

"You're especially annoying today." Fig muttered, tugging on their chestplate and trying to settle it from where MacCready had pulled on it, "Whatever. Get your shit together. We're going uh.. cure.. hunting."


	8. Rudie Can't Fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fig helps MacCready again with another problem MacCready has because all MacCready ever has are problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we diverge from canon enough for me to fix what *I* think are like... boring portrayals of dead women. I think Lucy (the way she doesn't appear in fallout 4) is a super boring character and the affinity dialogue where MacCready describes their relationship makes me feel UNWELL. So. there we are.

Down the hill from Greentop Nursery and the sinkhole where Fig threw things for fun, Med-Tek Research was waiting for them. MacCready talked the entire hour from Goodneighbor up to Malden.

He talked as if the silence would devour him. As if he were to leave the space between them without words, Fig would turn and leave him. He talked as if he were that girl from the story and Fig were Bluebeard sharpening a knife.

He was rambling about a basketball hoop, kids with wild names. Kids with guns and curse words. A radio DJ, a water purifier, the Brotherhood...

He had mentioned once before his tenure as a Kid Mayor. Fig remembered a little, knowing he lived in the Capitol with other kids... But the idea of their friend, Rat Man in charge of a group of kids and running their collective as a democracy... It was so funny.

“Big Town? You guys were poets.”

“It's what we called it! It's where you went when you got big.”

“Except you.”

“I had other plans.”

“You missed the Bright Lights Big City of Big Town? Is it still there? Can we go? Is Little Lamplight still there?”

They were making their way past Malden Middle School. Wind picked up, sending flurries of trash and old leaves down the street in eddies of movement. Fig leaned back against the wall to check their map, a crumpled old thing they had sewn first into the lining of their coat, and then transferred to a fold out to keep inside their chestplate.

“We wouldn't be welcome. No Mungos allowed.”

“What the fuck is a Mungo..?”

“Jesus, Fig, don't you listen? You, me.. Grownups. Can't trust 'em.” MacCready wanted to keep moving, he wanted to get it over with. He had been there before. And had failed before. For him, Failure was a foregone conclusion. He knew what the outcome probably would be. But he had to try.

“It's just up here. It's uh. It's ferals..”

“You don't like ferals.”

“I.. they...” He swallowed, clutching his hand over his heart for a moment and Fig squinted at him, holding a hand up to block the wind from blowing directly into their corneas.

“Come on man.. Big breath. You're not alone. You've got me. It's JUST like being alone, but louder.” Fig reached out, lightly thumping their hand on Mac's shoulder. His free hand came up and he grabbed. Grabbed Fig's hand and held onto them.

“I failed. Twice before. And if.. if I can't do this. Duncan... He's gonna d-die..” MacCready's eyes were welling up and Fig looked panicked. They reached up and put both hands over MacCready's eyes. It was such a stupid gesture that Mac started to laugh, a croaking, surprised noise.

“You're not going to fail. It's okay. We'll get Dunkle his cure and you'll be back at your terrible farm in no time. I promise.” Fig said, refusing to move their hands from over Mac's eyes until he sniffled softly and leaned back to look down at them.

“Sometimes, you remind me of Lucy. Like, the way you talk to me.”

“She bullied you too? She also hated your jacket and it's ecosystem?” Fig laughed, nervous, gently pushing MacCready back, making him walk.

“She just.. She was a shoulder to cry on. She supported me.”

“You married a bra.”

“Fig, not like that.”

“Sounds like a bra.”

Fig hopped over a small fence and waiting for Mac to do the same. He was quiet then, the two of them skirting the parking lot of Med-Tek. He looked like he was thinking. Fig stopped short, spying the first group of ferals circling a burned out car.

“Let's.. get this over with.” Fig shouldered their swatter and stepped forward.

* * *

“What did you mean about Lucy.. earlier?” MacCready was bandaging his hand. Fig was chugging a bottle of water, burping softly to themselves. It was twenty minutes later and Mac was still thinking about it.

“What do you mean?” Fit paused, scratching the side of their nose, “I just.. Aren't women good for more than being your shoulder to cry on.. or whatever? She was the love of your life. Tell me about her.” Fig burped again and slid the bottle back into their bag.

The Med-Tek lobby was cleared of ferals and they had worked all the way down to an office level. Fig sat on a desk, watching MacCready pace.

“It wasn't that she was... I mean.. I don't know. She was beautiful. And a good listener. And we loved each other... I just was comfortable telling her my problems. I could tell her anything.” He stopped short, looking at Fig, his eyes searching.

“Seems like standard married behavior.”

“Fig.. I mean, If you had a big secret, like something you were ashamed of, what would you have done with Jamie?”

“Oh, I told them everything. Because I am a terrible liar. And if I kept secrets from them, they'd figure it out. You ever hear of Miss Marple? That was Jamie. They'd be knitting a sweater and suddenly know exactly what I got them for Christmas.. But like, I didn't like not telling them stuff.. We were a team.” Fig grinned, a fond, wide smile.

MacCready was quiet then.

* * *

“I wasn't.. I didn't always tell Lucy the truth.” MacCready finally managed.

They were higher in the building. More dead ferals. He was hacking a terminal. Fig was searching through a filing cabinet against the wall.

“You were talking ballroom dancing lessons at night?”

“What the fu-- heck is ballroom dancing?”

“Mac.”

“Ballroom?” He snickered softly. Fig had never rolled their eyes harder in their life.

“ _Robert_.”

He tapped slowly at the keys, glancing Fig's way as they jiggled a drawer out and reached into the metal basin, trying to reach something worth the effort.

“I told.. her I was a soldier.” He said, finally. Fig glanced his way, gesturing with their free hand, a vague figure eight in his direction.

“Aren't you?”

“I mean. Not the way she thought I was. I told her I was a soldier, not a Merc. She never knew.. Never got the chance.”

“Was she considerably younger than you?” Fig asked, kicking the drawer closed and coming around to sort through the desk drawers at Mac's side.

“What do you mean? No, we are... were the same age.”

“How do you know she didn't know? Because unless she was a Veal wife and never left the farm, it's kind of hard to hide your day job.”

“I mean--”

“--Like, you don't have a uniform, you don't follow orders worth a shit, you argue constantly. You sleep late. You're never on time. Those aren't exactly Up-and-at-'Em behaviors. Hoo Rah, et cetera. She never got the message when your wages from the 'army' came home in the form of a stolen radio and a bunch of bloody bottlecaps?” Fig shrugged, glancing at the wounded looking rat. He stood up, pushing his chair back, his blue eyes clouded.

“You said she was smart and tough. Like me,” Fig grinned, “Maybe she just.. played along with your stupid cover story... Maybe she _liked_ playing along.”

Mac looked at Fig again, really looked at them. Sometimes, he would look at them as if he was seeing someone else, but then, he really examined their freckled face.

“I uh..” He was leaning on the desk, both hands splayed on the cracked plastic top. Fig stood across from him, head tilted to the side. Their eyebrows were drawn together in a confused little frown before Mac shook his head and stood up straight.

“I have the office and the door code. It's in the basement.”

“Of course it is!”

* * *

The basement stank. There were stupid laser turrets and ferals left and right and Fig had a rock in their boot. It had been bothering them since the parking lot and Mac was distracted and fuzzy the entire trip through the building. He hardly noticed when the shooting stopped and Fig paused outside the door to take off their shoe and dump the rocks out.

“God. What a nightmare.” Fig muttered, leaning against the wall to slide their boot back on. Inside the room, Fig could see through the windows, into the lab, more ferals milling around. They took a moment, stretching out, big breaths. But Mac was staring off into space, looking weird, still.

“Mac.. Mac... MAC.” Fig waved their hand at him and he blinked, looking at Fig, then the door, then Fig again. He nodded, blinking a few times, as if coming back to himself.

“What's going on with you? We're almost done here. We almost have the.. whatever, the special goo. For your kid.”

Mac nodded again, sliding his rifle from his shoulder.

“I just. I have a lot on my mind.” He fidgeted. He rarely fidgeted. Fig slapped their hand lightly on his cheek, just a little slap. It stung. He looked at them again, focusing.

“You are going to get the cure for your kid's weird illness. Focus on that. I gave up doing recon for the Railroad to help you with this. This is technically my free time. For sleep. And I'm in a wet, stinking basement with you.” Fig stared at MacCready.

“Oh man.”

“I didn't say that to.. make you feel bad. But you didn't even... Whatever. Mac.”

Fig gripped their swatter, hand over the button to open the door.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.. Ready.” Mac nodded.

* * *

In a field beyond the hospital, two people were sitting, covered in muck. One person was holding a little vial in their hand. The other person was sprawled on their back, staring up at the sky.

MacCready turned the vial over and over in his hand, staring down at it. He hadn't said a single word since they left the hospital. Fig was stretched out beside him, arms up over their head.

“You did it.” Fig said, finally. MacCready looked at the vial, holding it up to the sun and then carefully slipped it into his pocket.

“Couldn't have done it without your help.” His voice sounded strangled, soft. Like he was trying not to cry. Fig sat up a little, squinting up at him through the afternoon sun.

“Mac, you know you're my best friend. I don't.. I'm just here to help. And I'm sorry I was so hard on you about your wife. You know your relationship way better than I do. I was just being... kind of an asshole about it.”

MacCready shook his head, dragging his hat off and tossing it in the grass next to Fig's hands.

“You weren't though. I uh. I thought I knew best. How to handle Lucy. Instead of trusting her. Like I should have. And like I should have trusted you. Sometimes it's hard to um... Work with people like they're real people. To trust them the way I should.” He said, his voice firm. Fig swallowed, looking up at MacCready from where they were sprawled. Mac's knee was pressed to Fig's thigh and they could feel how bony he was.

“What's your deal, Rat? You're like a skeleton. Don't you eat?” Fig teased him, the way they always would in the past. But Mac didn't respond, carefully patting his jacket. He was gone again.. someplace else. Fig sighed, a frustrated little groan.

“MacCready, what the fuck is wro--”

He moved, closing the space between them.

The kiss was a surprise. Their lips met with a soft woosh of air and Fig gasped. Their eyebrows flew up, eyes closed. Their heart crashed into their ribs and Fig couldn't seem to move. MacCready's hand came up, brushing across Fig's scar, and he held their face still for a moment. He brushed a slow kiss to Fig's mouth, breathing out in a soft, whispering sigh.

Fig's face was flushed bright red and they let out a shy, hesitant sound. They opened their mouth below Mac's. He tasted like the weird clove cigarettes Daisy rolled in Goodneighbor. Fig shivered. He was leaning over them, the grass brushing against his shoulder, Fig's arms. The breeze was cool, but Fig felt warm from their head to their toes.

Almost as soon as it started, Mac leaned back, covering his face for a moment. He rolled away, standing up, standing over where Fig lay in the grass. He was smiling. MacCready reached down and helped Fig to their feet.

“I have to go.” He breathed. Fig looked at him, dark eyes dazzled.

“Uh.”

“I'll be back. Soon. I'll be back.”

“With Duncan?” Fig managed, feeling like they had a concussion, like they were slightly out of step with what the afternoon had turned into.

MacCready paused, rubbing a hand through his hair. He reached out, looping his finger in Fig's chestplate, pulling on them a little.

“I don't have.. I don't have somewhere safe he can stay. My room in Goodneighbor? No.. He's a kid. Kids need like. Grass. Space.”

“Like a dog.”

“Fig.”

“Bring him to the Castle. Other people have kids there. Claim a room. Get a trailer. Who cares. Preston? He just wants people to man the artillery.” Fig swallowed hard, feeling as if they were standing outside themselves, looking at an egg and a rat having a conversation.

MacCready pressed his hand to the vial in his pocket, feeling for it before looking at Fig again.

“I gotta go.” He gave Fig a wild smile, something exciting and new in it. Fig felt out of their element.

“Take _care_ of yourself.” Fig said, beating him to it. Mac grinned again. And Fig ignored the strangeness of the day and put both arms around his neck. They hugged him, a tight squeeze, their face pressed against his shoulder. MacCready didn't hesitate either, hugging Fig right back.

“If you don't come back, at least send a message or something. Let me know you're alive. Don't disappear again. Asshole.” Fig mumbled into his arm. MacCready's laugh was just as muffled but he stepped back, carelessly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He grabbed his rifle from the grass and turned, walking for the road.

“Wait. Oh, shit. Wait.” Fig grabbed Mac's hat from the grass and slid down the slight hill, carefully tucking the hat down over his hair.

“I look okay?”

“Of course not... Tell the kid I say Hi.”

MacCready grinned, a bigger smile than before and nodded, turning and following the road South, to the city center.

* * *

Fig watched him go, sitting by the side of the road for a while. They rested their head on their knees, watching the trees sway in the breeze, thick custardy clouds tracking across the sky.

They had their own job to do, their own burden to carry. And mostly thankless work to finish. And they had pain all over. And they were so tired. Sleep didn't cure the bone weary exhaustion. Or the obligations. Or the way people counted on them and only them.

But.. they felt a little lighter. Someone's kid would be okay. And that was good enough for them.


	9. The Gospel according Marvis B. Breakwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preston and Fig attempt to install 200 year old plumbing equipment into a Civil War era Fort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shaun has big Dinosaur Kid energy.

“Where is the water coming from?”

“The spigot.”

“No, the shut off valve is... shut off.”

“Uhh.. Maybe leaking from under the flooring? Like the waste pipe to the gray water tank...”

“The water is sure as shit coming from somewhere, General!”

Fig had never been so tired in their life. They were well over Two Hundred years old. They were the leader of a Commonweallth Militia. They fought monsters and ghouls and robots and their own old, old son. They walked through an irradiated wasteland on their own and helped return Boston to something resembling safety and security.

And helping Preston install the fucking shower room at the Castle was the most odious thing they had ever participated in. Hands down. Worse than infiltrating the Institute. Worse than blowing the Prydwen out of the sky. Worse than looking at an Old man calling them a name that wasn't theirs and talking about the future underground...

The fucking shower room.

They were both covered in caulk. Preston was wearing a stranger's coveralls. He looked very cute. Fig was crouched, barefoot, red cap backwards on their head.

“If it's the waste pipe and the tank, we'll have to pull the flooring up. Again. And if it's the tank, we might as well scrap the whole thing.” Fig groaned. The water was a puddle a good three inches deep and it was filling the shower room and threatening to breach the hallway down to the barracks.

Preston was holding a waterlogged copy of Easy Plumbing and You they had found in the library and kept paging back and forth between the diagram of the shower joint they had installed, and back to how to connect to the tank.

“Connect the... yeah, we did that.. Caulk along the joint of the water proof.. yeah... Huh.” He rubbed a hand along his chin and Fig stood up.

They hadn't left the Castle in a week. They hadn't worn their armor in as many days. Just a pair of yellow shorts and the world's most faded White-Sox jersey they could find. It was streaked with muck and foulness from installing the drain. Fig bent double to peer at the copper pipe fitted into the socket, leading to the flange near the floor. The words meant nothing to Fig. They followed the instructions that Marvis B. Breakwater had written in Easy Plumbing and You, their new Bible.

The whole plan was to install gang showers, use the gray water to filter and water the crops growing up top. It went along with the water barrels they had stationed around the perimeter to catch rainwater. They all went to the same tank and the same purifier. Sure, they had desalination devices hooked up for the purifiers stuck out in the bay, but recycling the water people used for bathing was just as helpful.

Fig and Preston had been so cocky going in. And they were beaten.

By a flange.

Fig peered at the pipes, trying to figure out which one had betrayed them.

“This is my hell. I died. And I'm in hell.” Fig muttered. Preston set the book on the windowsill and rooted around in the toolbox, finding the big wrench he had been using to tighten the valves.

“Maybe it's just.. that the pipe we scavenged isn't any good? We could go back to Diamond City and check out the Hardware Town. I bet they have another set of supply pipes.” As he loosened the valve, there was an ominous creaking. Preston froze. Fig froze. And then the creaking turned into a louder groan. And a squeal.

When the pipe gave way, they were still somehow unprepared. 

Icy cold water rocketed out of the pipe and knocked into both of them. The water roared, a sound unlike anything they had heard before. Fig let out a loud yelp, holding their hands in front of themselves. Preston choked out a gasp, the water freezing cold and SALTY.

“Oh god, It's OCEAN WATER. It's the purifier! Shit!” Fig cried out, grabbing for the wrench. They couldn't find it in the rapidly flooding room, searching for it on the floor where Preston had dropped it.

“Baba! Have you seen my lunchbox?” A high voice called out from the door. Fig couldn't turn, trying to slap their hands over the rushing water to figure out which piece of piping had failed. Preson lurched forward, cranking the shut off valve, but it did nothing.

“Buddy, run out to Ronnie and get her to knock off the power to the purifier! Run, pal!” Fig cried out.

“But my lunchbox? Have you seen it?” Shaun appeared at Fig's elbow, unconcerned with the rushing water or the struggle the two adults were locked in. His little gray tennis shoes were under water and Fig could see him curling his toes. 

“Pal, go tell Ronnie about the purifier! I will help you look in two seconds! Go!”

A departing slap of feet in the water and it was just Preston and Fig once again trying to dam up the bathroom. There was a soft wheeze from the wall and slowly, the torrent of water subsided and Fig and Preston were left standing in an ocean, dripping wet and frustrated.

“Preston.”

“Fig.”

“I quit.”

“I'm not accepting resignations at this time, General. Sorry.”

He ran a hand through his wet curls, standing tall beside Fig, the General barely meeting his armpit. They scowled up at him for a second before his arm dropped around their shoulders and they stood together for a moment.

“You know what we have to do.” Preston said, finally.

“Burn the place down. Start over. Clean slate.”

“Fig.”

“Fire Cleanses."

" _General_."

"I KNOW. I know. I just. He's going to be so smug. He told me I would need his help.” Fig muttered.

“I will travel up to Sanctuary tomorrow and bring him back. Sturges is the only one who can fix this.” Preston's voice when he talked about Sturges was reverent. Fig noted the far away look in Preston's eye and bit back a smile. He had been making a lot of excuses to visit Sanctuary... More than anyone really needed. Nothing was ever really wrong up there, but Preston always seemed to need to spend the night, or bring them supplies personally. It had _nothing_ to do with his affection for the Pompadour-ed mechanic, at all. 

“I will be conveniently occupied someplace else.” Fig said, casually. There were soft splashes from behind them and then, arms wrapped around Fig's sodden waist.

“Lunchbox?” Shaun was talking into Fig's waist, his fingers knotted in the wet fabric of their shirt... Fig looked down at their son, reaching out to gently tug his dark hair.

“You remember where you saw it last? Maybe the kitchen? Or out by the Radio? I know you were showing Craig your treasures earlier.”

Shaun peered up at them, and then toward Preston, thinking hard. He squinted at Preston, and Preston squinted back, earning a rare smile from the kid. Fig bent double and pressed their foreheads together.

“Preston has to go to Sanctuary tomorrow. Would YOU, Shaun Burns, like to accompany me to Diamond City? Maybe spend some time with Nat and Piper?”

“Can we go to the Science Center with Piper?” It was his favorite place in Diamond City. He would spend hours watching Professor Scara work on her electrical experiments, forgoing Doctor Duff's kid themed experiments.

“Of course. Noodles and Science Center. And maybe we can get you some new shoes at Fallon's. These ones are concerning.”

“I like them!” Shaun pressed his pointed chin into Fig's hipbone, painful, but Fig didn't mind.

“I can see your toes, bud. We'll get you new shoes, but you can pick them out. Even if I don't like them. Deal?”

Shaun fidgeted slightly, looking between the adults before he untangled his arms from Fig's waist and reached up to shake Preston's hand.

“Can I bring Dogmeat?” He asked. Preston grinned, nodding, giving Shaun's hand a firm shake.

“Thank you, Sir.” Shaun nodded, letting go of Preston's hand before he darted away, running through the flooded room and out into the hall.

“DOGMEAT.” Fig could hear him bellowing as he rushed away, his voice growing fainter as he charged through the Castle.

Fig bumped their shoulder against Preston's arm as they surveyed the mess they had made.

“Nice of you to share your dog.”

“He and Shaun love each other.” Preston grinned, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“Rock paper scissors for who cleans up?” Fig asked, batting their eyelashes at their second in command.

“You're going down, General.”

Despite Fig being the General, they had no dedicated bedroom at the Castle. They moved around too much, it seemed like a waste of space for a room nobody would sleep in. So, when the time came, Fig made sure the real leader of the Minutemen had a place to camp.

Preston's place at the Castle was an ancient train car, hoisted and placed atop one of the walls. It had a stunning view of the bay and where the Prydwen used to float. It housed his desk, a functional typewriter, several thousand boxes of information about each Settlement, trade routes, dangers. A metal bed frame with a clean mattress made up with actual sheets and a pillow. A chair for Preston's laundry. A dresser for his clothes. And, right then, Fig. They stripped off their wet clothes, throwing them out the door and onto the wooden plank just outside. The splat was hideous. They shrugged into a pair of clean shorts and a t-shirt, ratty jeans.

They'd grab Shaun, the dog, their armor from the Armory and they'd be off to Diamond City. An easy trek. Shaun was a good traveling companion, smart in tense situations and good at hiding. The two of them made a good team.

Fig stood against the railing, looking out over the Castle courtyard, watching as Shaun rocketed down the dusty path, Dogmeat hot on his heels.

“Kiddo, where'd you get that hat?” Fig called out, leaning over the railing and squinting down at their kid.

Shaun was wearing a cap, greenish gray, with a small brim and a gold detail glinting in the afternoon sun.

“Guy game it to me! Said he was looking for you!” Shaun shouted.

“What guy?” Fig gripped the edge of the railing, sucking in a deep breath of air.

_“The guy with the baby!”_

Fig had never moved so fast in their life. They turned, stumbling down the half step down from Preston's apartment to the stone stairs.They rushed down the steps, nearly tripping on their own untied laces, but made it to the bottom, sprinting through the kitchen and into the bar. They stopped short in the doorway.

“This is a heck of a couch.” MacCready looked down at the leopard printed fainting couch Fig loved deeply. He was standing in the bar, as if it were natural for him to just.. Be there. His long coat was gone, he was dressed in a blue winter jacket, three shirts layered.. His hair was getting long. It brushed the collar of his shirt.

And he was holding a kid.

Not a baby, like Shaun said, but a toddler, a young thing with brown eyes and faint pox scars on his skin. Duncan squirmed slightly in Mac's arms and he carefully set him down on the couch, watching as Duncan easily slid off of the sofa and slowly began to wander the room. He wore little cloth shoes and a pair of overalls. His name was stitched carefully across the bib. D-U-N-C-A-N.

Fig didn't know what to say. Their chest felt too tight, like when they'd go diving in the river outside Sanctuary. Take too deep a breath before ducking under the surface. 

“I like the look.” MacCready gestured at Fig. Their hair had grown out from the buzz cut. It was short, close cropped to their head, but Shaun liked to pet it while Fig read to him at night. It was almost long enough to curl around their ears. 

Fig took a step closer, examining Mac as he stood under the revolving mirror ball suspended from the ceiling. He put his arms out to the side, did a little three-sixty for their approval. They 'hmmed' under their breath and Fig reached out, tugging lightly on the cuff of his jacket, arching a dark brow at the bearded friend. 

“You _hated_ my other coat.” He laughed, looking down at himself. Fig reached out, hooking a finger in the chest pocket of the coat, pulling on it. Mac hesitated, bringing his hand up to carefully wrap around Fig's fist. 

* * *

The letter had arrived at the Castle a month after Mac had left town. Mail services in the Wasteland were spotty at best, but Fig had a lot on their mind. Things at the Institute were getting weirder and Fig was spending a lot of time on their own, or sitting in a cold medical lab, talking to a lonely robot boy.

The letter had been delivered by one of Daisy's couriers, held by Preston until Fig could come get it.

_Fig,_

_The cure works. Duncan is going to be okay._

_I think I am going to be staying down here for a while. Maybe forever. I'm trying to stick around for him._

_I know I left things weird between us. I don't want to apologize for it. But I do want you to know I'm always thinking about you._

_I hope we'll meet up again._

_MacCready_

Fig wanted to be happier than they were. The kid would be okay, MacCready was going to be there for him. But he wasn't coming back.

And then everything at the institute went to shit and Fig had to do some fast thinking.

They didn't blow the place up. It was still there. With the SRB dealt with and Father out of the picture, most of the scientists took off, leaving Synths and citizens behind.

And the Railroad moved right in. It was a better HQ than under the church, but Fig didn't go there as much. It was hard to relay in, or use the tunnels. It made them feel sick and nervous, the white walls closing in on them.

For weeks afterward, they slept at the Castle, not in a room, but wrapped in a blanket under the stars. Shaun, new Shaun.. He had come with them. A bright, strange kid who needed a family. And Fig was more than happy to oblige. He called them Baba and rarely asked about 'Father' or what happened to his other parent. He seemed happy enough to be with Fig, Preston, Piper.

It was months. And months. Working on settlements, the displaced people from the Institute who had no place to go. Helping folks around Diamond City, arresting the Mayor of all people. Getting a case from Valentine about a missing girl that nearly took them to the backwater of Maine of all places, but.. But they had a responsibility to their kid first, Minutemen second, and then Valentine and assorted others. 

They were so tired. Parenting a baby had been a challenge, but suddenly, their son was a whole kid. And a kid with issues and nightmares and he kept growing and shoes weren't cheap. They hadn't taken a moment to think about MacCready other than worrying he was dead, or wondering... wondering...

* * *

Fig shook their head and shivered, blinking like they had been in a trance. MacCready reached out, putting his hand on their arm for a second.

“Jesus, you're freezing! What happened?” He tugged them closer, putting his arms around them like he was going to warm their icy skin, but Fig ducked under his embrace and crouched down.

“Plumbing explosion. You're lucky you weren't here for it or I would have made you mop up. Duncan.. Hey, buddy.” Fig's voice was soft, a gentle sing-song to it as they reached for the quiet kid. Duncan looked at Fig, examining them and then turning, walking in the opposite direction.

“Ouch? Rejection.”

“He does that. He has his own thing going on. He'll warm up to you if he feels like it.” MacCready watched his son wander under a table and back toward them, trailing his little hand along the side of the couch.

Fig stood, glancing at the Mercenary for a moment.

“You're here now...” Fig stuffed their hands into the pockets of their jeans, shoulders up around their ears.

“Yeah. The farm.. I really fuc-- messed that up. And I just kept thinking about uh.. You know. Um. How much I missed the lethal humidity and garbage stink of Boston.” He smiled. Fig's face burned pink with a blush they didn't expect. They had to look away, fixing their eyes firmly on the ceiling. 

“We've got rooms here. Unless you had plans to go somewhere else. Some farms up north have places for kids. Or Nordhagen Beach, if you wanted something less central. They've got a whole purifier operation going, shipping freshwater out to the other settlements... They've got a trading post, a doctor, the whole thing.” Fig swallowed. They were babbling. Mac looked to the side, making sure Duncan didn't dart away. He seemed to be pretty fast on his little legs.

“Where have you been staying?”

“Shaun and I move around a lot. In the winter, the plan is to set up in Diamond City. He can go to school there. I can still travel around where Preston needs me.” Fig shrugged, looking down at their shoes, “I don't really... I never set up one place for myself. Didn't plan that far ahead. Even the Rocket is being used. Some farmers are using it for this.. immense razorgrain harvest..” They laughed.

MacCready craned his neck, looking down the hall at the sandbagged area, spying a dark haired kid wandering down the hall, carrying a lunchbox and whistling to the big dog frolicking at his side.

“You finally got that dog, huh?”

“That's Preston's dog. Shaun borrows him.” Fig looked at Mac again, really looking at him. He had come back up to Boston with a baby. And was at the Castle, a place he had to know he would find Fig.

“You missed me.” Fig said slowly, drawing their hands out of their pockets and stretching, pulling one arm across their chest and popping their shoulder. And then again, with the other arm. Their shirt crept up and revealed another tattoo, the same as the one on the side of their head. A slow black spiral creeping up their stomach, and higher. 

Mac's face went red and he shrugged, watching Duncan pull himself up on the fainting couch to sit.

“I missed a steady paycheck.”

“You missed me. Admit it. You cried yourself to sleep, whispering my name. You wandered the fields, looking for clouds that looked like my face.” Fig felt a warmth coming to their face. Their heart raced and they felt a giddy excitement they hadn't felt in months.

“That sounds like my nightmare.”

“You saw someone with a familiar facial scar and would burst into tears.” They took a step closer to the mercenary, watching him take a step back, bumping into the arm of the sofa.

“Fig.” He had a warning tone in his voice, his hands out in front of him as if to ward off an attack.

“You would wake in the night, crying out for me, only to find a bare room and a baby with a five o'clock shadow.” They reached out, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and shaking him a little. MacCready was blushing, a bright color to his face and up to his ears. He reached out with one hand, closing around Fig's wrist and holding onto it tightly.

“Fig!” He let out a surprised laugh, “My son doesn't have a beard!”

“Are you sure? Have you looked closely?” The two of them looked toward Duncan, the kid standing up on the sofa near Mac's elbow, his hands clutched in MacCready's sleeve.

“Duncan, do you have a beard?” MacCready asked, bending down to meet Duncan eye to eye. He had let go of Fig, and they stepped back a bit, watching.

The kid made a soft farting noise with his mouth and reached out, grabbing Mac's nose in one scarred little hand.

“Ow.” Mac honked softly, causing Duncan to laugh. Duncan glanced toward Fig, but didn't smile or reach for them, instead burying his face in Mac's arm.

“You guys must be tired. I'll get a bed ready for you. Shaun and I are leaving for Diamond City in a bit. Um..” Fig's instant urge was to invite him. _Mac, come with._ That was how it always was. But he had a kid with him. So did Fig. Things were different. 

“You'll be back.” MacCready grinned, lifting Duncan off the couch and swinging him in his arms, squeezing the kid to his chest. He gave Fig a smile over Duncan's head and Fig smiled back, slowly backing toward the door.

“Yeah, I'll be back.” Fig stepped into the hall, not daring to look away from Mac, until they had to, breaking off and walking quickly. They scooped Shaun along with them, hugging the kid to their side as they found an empty, unmade bunk in one of the more quiet dorms and made up a bed for MacCready. They found a fold away cot for the baby and sent Shaun to find a set of clean blankets.

“Hey, Garvey. Still playing Superhero?” Mac's voice was louder in the hallway and Fig lifted their head to see Preston giving Duncan a friendly smile.

“He's cute. Must take after someone else.” Preston's smile was lethal and he looked proud of himself for the dig. Fig couldn't stifle their snort, a burst of laughter and they covered their mouth. MacCready's head appeared around the edge of the door and he scowled.

“I'm back a minute and you're already being mean. I'll leave. I'll walk right out of here. I don't need this abuse from you two.” The threats were so empty, but Fig couldn't stop laughing, watching MacCready sputter.

"General, I'm getting ready for shift change. I'll be sleeping here tonight and off to Sanctuary in the morni-- Oof."

Shaun pushed between the two men, carrying a wad of blankets in his arms. Preston waved to Fig over Shaun's head and disappeared, heading back toward the stairs to his apartment. 

“Oh, bud, thank you. These are great.” Fig took the heavier one, spreading it on Mac's bed, smoothing it out. Shaun sat on the cot for the baby, looking up at Mac with interest. The kid was still wearing MacCready's hat, the brim slipping down over his eyes. Fig reached out and pushed it back to reveal Shaun's face. His face looked just like Fig's face. The same upturned nose, the same dark eyes, the same freckles.

“Have you ever seen a Deathclaw up close? Did you know they can change their colors or be invisible if they have the right mutation? Did you know that the kind of Deathclaws we have here are different than the ones out west? Did you know they can be blind because they live in caves?” Shaun bounced in place, looking between the two adults and the baby with interest.

“You really like Deathclaws, huh?” Mac asked, carefully setting Duncan down on the bed, sagging down onto the mattress beside him with a groan. Fig stepped over his legs, kicking Mac's feet lightly out of the way and grabbing the wall to steady themselves. MacCready drew his legs out of their way and watched as they bent down and pulled off Mac's hat, pressing a kiss to the top of their son's head.

“They're the most interesting creature in the wasteland. Did you know they can grow up to twenty five feet tall if they have adequate space and resources?” Shaun looked toward Fig then, suddenly shy. Fig grinned right back and reached out, giving Shaun a little high five.

“You got your bag packed? Did you find your lunchbox?” Shaun lifted it up to show Fig, but looked at Mac again.

“Is that baby yours? Or... Or did they give it to you? Did you get to choose him? Do you have to give him back?” He asked, focusing on Duncan for a moment. MacCready glanced at Fig and then back at the serious kid. The kid was unsettling and eerily serious.

“He's mine... Duncan, this is uh, Shaun. Shaun, this is Duncan.”

Shaun sat forward a little, looking at the sleepy toddler lolling against MacCready's arm.

“Did they... Does he have dreams? Does _he_ know about deathclaws?” Shaun asked, looking up at MacCready before standing abruptly and offering his hand for MacCready to shake.

“Uhh.. Put 'er there, kiddo.” Mac looked at Fig for confirmation before shaking Shaun's hand. The kid took his lunchbox and turned to leave, but again, turned back.

“I'll show you my treasures.” He moved to open his lunchbox, but Fig reached out, tapping the lid lightly with their fingertip.

“Nope, the baby has to take a nap. Go get your backpack and meet me by the radio in five minutes. Deal? You meet me there, you get to pick what's for dinner.” They grinned. Shaun looked at them seriously before nodding and rushing out of the room.

Fig watched him go and turned back to MacCready with a slow smile. MacCready looked across the narrow room at Fig, watching them linger near the door. Fig turned Mac's hat around and around in their hands before tossing it onto the bed beside him. The shells winked, golden up at them from the band.

“You found him...” Mac said slowly, looking up at Fig from where he sat. Fig had been so sure their son was dead... They had given up trying to find him, but had invested their life in avenging him. But there he was, a weird little alive kid.

“Is he okay? I mean he's a little--”

“He's really into Deathclaws lately. Before that, it was the Yao Guai. He likes comics too, if you ever run out of Deathclaw facts. He's got special interests. Sometimes, he gets into loops. But he's so smart. I'm really proud of him.” Fig paused, not letting MacCready's train of thought continue down the track it was on. Their voice was firm.

“Food is in the kitchen, but we do big dinners most nights. And the doctor is just down the hall. Can't miss her office... I'll be back sometime this week. Hopefully after they fix the showers. Because I am hopeless at plumbing.” Fig brushed their hands down the ragged fabric of their jeans, as if wiping something away. Mac nodded, rubbing his hand up and down Duncan's arm, mirroring their gesture. 

“Never guessed you'd be terrible at something so detail oriented and complex. So unlike you.” He raised an eyebrow and Fig gasped, putting a hand to their chest.

“Okay, Ratman. You and your baby enjoy this historical paradise, see if I ever come back to visit.” Fig started for the door.

“Hey.” Mac called out, peeking around the end of the bunk. Fig looked over their shoulder, raising their eyebrows.

“You were right. I _did_ come back for you.” He grinned. His face was flushed.

“Oh, I knew that. I knew that as soon as I saw the coat.” Fig smiled, stepping out of the room and heading out into the courtyard.


	10. Sweet Birthday Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fig plans a Birthday for Shaun. MacCready shows off his new couch. Shaun talks to a mysterious stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot happens here.

_It's a Birthday!_

_Birthday Birthday Birthday!_

_Don't let the Deathclaws keep you down!_

_You are invited to_

_Shaun Burns' 10 th birthday party!_

_To be held on September 15 th_

_Around Five in the evening._

_Home Plate, Diamond City._

_Dinner, cake, games!_

_You don't need a gift, just bring yourself!_

The birthday invite was stiff cardboard in the shape of a cake. The front had a screen print in black ink, a deathclaw wearing a party hat. The back, the information. Piper had used the printing press to make multiple copies.

It was a popular card. It traveled by hand and by Brahmin. It graced the bulletin boards from the new Switchboard in the CIT ruins, to the Castle, to Bunker Hill and up to Sanctuary. There was one in the Dugout Inn, at the school. One in Glory's coat pocket. One nestled tucked up against the side of Preston's pen cup in his office. One set in a place of honor on the mostly clean coffee table at Piper's place.

Shaun had been asking about a party for months beforehand. He and Fig were walking down the road between Sanctuary and the Rocket, sharing a box of popcorn. The summer was waning, the light still golden and warm, but Fig could see leaves changing on the higher branches, just hints of red in the green.

Shaun was wearing an ancient Minuteman uniform jacket over his little striped shirt, the sleeves too long as he dunked his hand into the popcorn and came up with a handful.

“We had a party for Preston.”

Fig offered him a hand to help him around a massive pothole, at least two feet deep, with a single orange cone at the bottom. 

“In May, yeah. Buddy, where'd you get this jacket?”

“For his birthday.” Shaun said, his voice filled with meaning as he looked up at Fig.

“You made him those models for his office. Did someone _give_ you this jacket? Did you find it?”

The Rocket was still occupied, a family using it as the trading post between Sanctuary and Abernathy Farm, but they were also successfully raising chickens and shipping the fertile manure blend to other farms. The smell... was something else.

Fig stood in the shade of the overhang, watching as Shaun grabbed the lapels of his own coat and twirled in a series of small circles. He would whip his head around, focusing on Fig, as if to stop himself from getting dizzy.

“It was in a big trunk at Sanctuary. I was looking for books about the electrical wiring problem Sturges was working on. I think I can help. Can I have a party?” He twirled around again, reaching for Fig and they reached back, linking hands with him and letting Shaun spin under their hand, twirling like a ballerina in a jewelry box.

“For your birthday? Of course you can have a party. It's not until September.”

“Baba. I want to invite people. And have a cake.” Shaun had stopped spinning, but still clung to Fig's hand, looking up at them.

Fig crouched down, letting go of Shaun's hand to gently begin to do up the buttons of the borrowed coat.

“We can do that. Your birthday is in a month. You'll be in school by then, in Diamond City. We could have it there. Invite Nat and Piper.”

“And Glory. And Preston. And Duncan. ”

“Duncan might be too little.”

“MacCready then.”

“We'll ask him.”

* * *

There was something exciting about coming around the square and up the steps to Bunker Hill. Not about meeting with Kessler, or going to trade. It was something to do with the man running their security.

Diamond City was too boring, too square for him. Goodneighbor was too dangerous for a baby. The Castle was too far.

MacCready had been there for a month or two, but Fig hadn't had the chance to visit. They talked a little after he came back to the Castle. But it felt different. They had kids. They were busy.

They'd catch Mac looking at them. Really looking. And it made Fig feel antsy and flushed. But time kept slipping away from them.

So when he left the Castle and headed up to Bunker Hill, Fig was a little surprised. He had always bitched about the pathetic monument.

They climbed the steps, limping under the weight of the scrap they wanted to hand off to Kessler.

“Trader or-- Oh, General.” Kessler's tart voice drifted down over the scaffolding she stood atop. Fig lifted a hand to wave, but nearly tipped over from the weight of the pack.

“Drop that off in storage before you break something!” She shouted.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know if Lucas Miller is in town? I've got some stuff for him too.” Fig hoisted the bag onto their shoulder, but Kessler just gestured toward the market. They schlepped the clanking backpack to the workbench off of the storage room, casually looking around for a familiar hat.

Feeling lighter and at least an inch taller, Fig turned toward the bustling square. It was trading day, clearly. Caravan hands sitting around, watching people haggle with Cricket, Doc Weathers, Lucas, Trashcan Carla.

Meg was there, drawing on the base of the monument with Duncan at her side. He was watching her work, listening to her talk quietly to him. And as Fig came around the side of the monument, they realized that MacCready was sitting nearby, chin on his hand, watching Duncan play.

“Is this man bothering you, ma'am?” Fig called out. Meg looked up with a surprised laugh, glancing at MacCready.

“I can handle him, General.”

MacCready looked up at Fig with a little scowl before he stood and pointed at them.

“You're not welcome here, troublemaker. This is a nice town.”

“Don't point at me, Robert!” Fig snorted, reaching out and slapping at his hands. MacCready stepped back, letting out a loud snort of laughter. He was dressed like the guards dressed, the old baseball uniform and leather armor. He looked healthier, a layer of comfortable fat over his bones. It suited him for sure, the look of someone who was safe. Fig grinned, a wide, easy smile. MacCready hesitated for a moment before throwing an arm around Fig's shoulders and guiding them toward the bar along the back wall.

“Don't let him eat the chalk, there's twenty caps in it for you.” He called over his shoulder to Meg. Fig fit under his arm, surprisingly comfortable against his side as they walked.

“You know, when Kessler decides to give up running this place, they may want a new leader. Like, an elected official. You know, like a Mayor.”

“Stop.”

“Mayor MacCready. Has a nice ring to it.” Fig grinned at him, watching his face twitch as he bit the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing.

MacCready offered Fig the first seat at the bar and they sat, letting him stand just behind them.

“What'll it be, General?” Tony Savoldi was leaning against the bar as if glued there. Fig couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been standing there. His son, Joe, was mopping up something sticky on the ground near their feet.

Fig ordered a Nuka-Cola, glancing at MacCready, and then a water for him before they fully swiveled around on their stool to face the man.

“I have a question for you.”

“You didn't visit the Hill just for me?” Mac asked, sliding his hat off and running his hand through his hair.

“Sort of. Shaun is having a birthday party. His first birthday party. He wanted Duncan to come, but if Duncan is otherwise engaged, he wanted _you_ to come.” Fig leaned back against the bar, elbows resting on the metal edge of the counter.

“Just Shaun, huh?”

“Oh, I'd never invite you into my home.” Fig grinned, looking up at him from under the brim of their red cap. That earned a laugh from the mercenary and Fig felt that same warmth in their gut they got each time they saw him...

“Want to see my place? You haven't been out here since I moved.” Mac offered, reaching out and grabbing his water from the counter. Fig stood, snagging the Nuka-Cola and following along at Mac's side.

“You dressing like a civilian these days?” MacCready asked, gesturing at Fig's coveralls. They were faded green ones, the standard, but Fig had the arms wrapped around their waist, revealing a filthy white t-shirt.

“I'm trying to stay under the radar. The Brotherhood hold-outs and fuckin' Institute leftovers.. they've been coming at me pretty hard when I'm out doing runs for Preston.”

“You could always ditch the hat you constantly wear all the time...” Mac reached out, snagging Fig's hat right off their head to reveal their dark hair, still cut short, with uneven dark bangs cutting across their forehead.

“And wear what? I can't let the Commonwealth be exposed to my weird lumpy head.” Fig gasped, snatching the hat out of Mac's hand and stuffing it into their pocket. They ran a hand through their hair, ruffling it a little with a static pop.

The duo came around the back of the market, toward a series of two story shacks. Most were open on one side, caravan bunks, but there was one with an actual door and four whole walls.

“Uh, home sweet home, I guess.” Mac sighed. Fig noticed how red his face was and grinned to themselves.

“Let me see. I'm dying to know what sort of furniture you found.” Fig gasped, pushing him toward the door. He opened it slowly, stepping inside and pausing on the doorstep.

“Don't make fun. You promise?”

“Jesus, what do you mean? You got a dead body in there? Let me in!” Fig pushed his chest again, trying to muscle past him, but he didn't move, squinting at them.

“You have to promise!”

“Oh my god, okay. Cross my heart, et cetera.” Fig nodded eagerly, pushing on his chest. Mac sighed heavily and stepped out of the way, letting Fig in.

The house itself was small, one room on the ground floor, and stairs up to the second floor. It had a hideous white and red sofa against one wall, a disco ball hanging from the ceiling and a series of Unstoppables covers framed on the wall. A small cabinet for dishes and food, a little cooler, a tiny dining table with one chair. Fig brushed by Mac and climbed halfway up the stairs to peek into his bedroom. A mattress on the floor with a soft blanket, a cot for the baby, his dresser and his duffle of sniper shit. It was all very homey and soft. Rugs on the floor, neon rocketship fabric.. Fig turned, still standing on the steps and grinned down at MacCready.

“I expected a family of raccoons to be nesting in your socks. This place looks fine! Why were you worried?”

Mac's face colored, blushing to his ears.

“You've never seen my place before. I've only ever lived out of the Rexford or in spare beds.. I uh.. wanted to impress you.” Fig's smile hurt their cheeks. They stood on the creaking metal step, hand braced on the wall as Mac stumbled through his explanation. He was just below them, nervously drumming his fingers on the wall, glancing up at Fig before they leaned down and caught the edge of his leather armor.

Fig held him still and leaned in, pressing their mouth to his. Their eyes closed and they kissed him softly, a gently pressure of their lips to his. They kept their hand wrapped around the chest strap. They could hear their pulse thundering in their ears and even with standing above Mac on the stairs, they felt like they might be swallowed by the sound.

Mac's hand came up, touching Fig's hand first, and then their cheek. His thumb brushed over Fig's scar and Fig felt a lightning bolt rock through their body. They shivered. He sighed, breathing out against Fig's mouth and slowly opened his mouth with a little gasp. The gasp was muffled against Fig's mouth. Fig stumbled down a step, almost falling, but Mac slipped an arm around their waist, drawing them right up against him. The rough edges of his armor snagged their clothes, but Fig felt the heat of his body even through their coveralls. Fig shivered, shyly, with hesitation, running their hand through his dark hair. They pulled, tugging his hair gently.

“Fig..” Mac sighed, pressing a soft kiss to Fig's mouth once more. They let out a soft breath of laughter, helpless. It felt like their chest was filled with butterflies..

“Don't laugh.. I'm doing some of my best work.” MacCready muttered, moving his mouth from their mouth, down to the curve of their throat. Fig gasped, surprised at the warmth, the little bite to their neck. Fig knotted their hand in his hair and let out a helpless burst of laughter again. He sucked, making a soft pink mark on Fig's skin and causing Fig to gasp. It was a sharp, sudden sound and they both paused. Mac's hands flexed, one tightening on Fig's waist and holding them still.

“M-Mac..” They shifted, leaning back against the wall and quietly beginning to undo the strap of his armor.

Mac helped, tugging on the thing, but the armor was stiff and the buckle wouldn't move.

“Damn thing... Fucking thing...” MacCready muttered. Fig let out a louder gasp of laughter, letting go of Mac and putting space between them. They sat on the steps, looking at their friend.

“You cursed! Twice! You said fuck!”

“Fig.” Mac's voice was warning, but he was still wrestling with his armor. Fig covered their mouth, a giddy excitement bubbling up inside of them.

“You said fuck.. Say it again.” Fig reached up, easily undoing the buckle of Mac's armor. The chest piece fell to the floor with a clunk and Fig moved their hands to undo the buttons of his shirt. MacCready leaned back in, kissing Fig's neck and sucking gently on their skin. His hands moved, creeping up under Fig's t-shirt, rough, callused fingers trailing over Fig's skin. They felt dizzy, hot all over, hands shaking a little. A pounding pulse under their skin.

And a pounding at the door.

“Mr. MacCready?”

“Meg.. Oh, _Meg_. Shit.” Mac stepped back, turning toward the door. Fig grabbed his armor off the floor, tossing it behind them up the stairs. They tucked their shirt back into their coveralls and sat up straight. Mac pulled the door open, revealing Meg and Duncan, the baby covered in bright blue chalk. The kid looked miserable, her eyes downcast.

“He kept trying to eat it, I'm sorry.”

“Oh, no that's.. It's my fault. I shouldn't have left him like that. You did fine. It's just.. It's gonna be bath night.” Mac reached out, scooping Duncan up and fumbling around in his pocket to find the caps he owed her. Meg took them, but looked glum about it.

Mac pushed the door closed, holding his blue, chalky baby and examining him.

“Oh.” Fig snorted, covering their face with both hands.

“Duncan..” MacCready said, trying a stern voice, but Fig's laughter kept interrupting and making Duncan giggle.

“Okay, well.. I am not sticking around for bathtime.” Fig stood, slipping around MacCready and his artist.

Mac paused, reaching out to hook his finger around the collar of their t-shirt.

“Stay the night.” He grinned, pressing his hand gently to their shoulder. Fig smiled right back, watching Duncan lean in to bite the side of MacCready's face, slobbering on him.

“I think you're busy enough without me, Ratman. I'll see you at Shaun's birthday.” Fig smiled, opening the door and slipping out into the afternoon.

“You'll miss me!” Mac shouted, but was muffled as Fig pushed the door closed with a laugh.

* * *

Shaun had a lot of anxiety. Nightmares, worries, panic. Fig could deal with a lot of it with talking to him. But every so often, he would get stuck in a loop. He was genuinely concerned that nobody would go to his birthday. He asked every day if anyone had said they'd come. Fig tried to comfort him with the fact that Nat and Piper had said yes instantly, Danny Sullivan, Sheng, Erin Reische too. But Shaun was... worried. He hadn't had friends in the Institute. He didn't know any of the children, Dr. Li rarely talked to him, Father didn't visit him. The first person who showed interest in him had been Fig. And after Fig? Glory. While Fig evacuated the Institute, Glory and Tinker Tom had swept the kid out of the building and back to the church. The Liberated Synth and Shaun had sat together, choosing clothes for him to wear, talking quietly. She was... an idol. A rock star. Someone to look up to. But they didn't see each other after that. She was busy, he was going to live with Fig.

He worried at night, wearing one of Fig's t-shirts and shorts, tucked up in his little bed. He had nightmares about being left behind in a burning Institute. He felt a cold draft and would stop moving entirely until Fig took his hands and walked him someplace quiet and warm and let him come back to himself.

The party loomed on the horizon and Fig was worried that Shaun would get so worked up about the possible failure of the event, that he wouldn't enjoy himself even if it all went perfectly.

* * *

A couple days before the party, Fig sat at Power Noodles, Shaun quietly stirring his soup and staring down at a thick chapter book, something he found in Mr. Zwicky's library. He hadn't talked much, the afternoon turning into twilight. A heavy sigh came from Shaun's other side and a bald security officer dropped down next to him.

“Why so glum, chum?” Deacon asked, reaching out and sliding Shaun's dinner away from him. Fig glanced at the spy, arching a brow at him. Deacon gave them a broad smile and turned his attention back to the kid.

“It's okay. You don't have to tell me. I'm simply a messenger. I've been all around the Commonwealth. I work for a lot of important people. Santa. The Tooth Fairy. The IRS. I've never seen anyone more dedicated to planning an event the way you are. Foreign Governments don't put this much thought into military coups. I'm really impressed. You've got a real eye for detail. But I'm here to give you some news about your party. ” Fig looked at Deacon sharply, but Shaun was already staring at him.

“My party?”

“You want the good news first or the bad news?” Deacon asked, the neon reflecting off of his sunglasses. Shaun swallowed hard, staring up at the bald man.

“Bad.”

“Alright. Good choice. Some of the folks you invited, they aren't coming.”

Shaun's face crumpled slightly, but he still sat straight, looking up at Deacon with damp eyes.

“Okay. Is it.. Is it because.. I'm a-a...”

“Oh, I've got a full list, people and reasons. I can read it off now. But before I do that, we gotta talk a little. You're a good kid. I know Fig tells you that. But sometimes, your parents love you so much that it doesn't sink in and you gotta hear it from a middle aged man in stolen underpants. So, I'm telling ya', you're a good kid. And people like you. You got friends from here to Jamaica Plain. From here to Far Harbor.” Deacon paused, reaching up to slide his sunglasses off of his face. Fig looked away. They had never seen him without them on his face before. It felt wrong to just, look upon his face. 

“But sometimes, things go poorly. People don't come to your party. Or you're disappointed with how things turn out. And you gotta learn to live with that feeling, roll with it. Don't let that disappointment take the wind out of your sails. Or make you feel like you're not worthy of love or affection. Disappointments happen, it's how you deal with it is what matters,” Deacon said, looking at the kid with kind, surprisingly human blue eyes, “So... do you want to know who isn't coming and why?” He asked, his voice gentle.

Shaun swallowed hard, clenching his little hand around the spine of his book.

He shook his head firmly.

Deacon sat back, sliding his sunglasses on and reaching out to shake Shaun's hand.

“Good man. I do have one person who is coming though. For sure. Wouldn't miss it for the world.” He stood up, slipping a piece of paper from his armor and passing it to the kid before turning and heading off toward the security office.

Shaun carefully unfolded the paper, looking down at it with his teary eyes. Deacon's handwriting left much to be desired.

“Oh..” He breathed, smoothing the paper on the cover of his book.

_GLORY._

* * *

The actual party, the event, the thing Shaun was looking forward to for a month.. It went off without a hitch. His friends from school attended. Piper and Preston were there to supervise the chaos. People brought gifts even though they were instructed not to and Preston kept a list of people Shaun needed to thank later. Danny Sullivan stopped by with Pastor Clements, but they only came in for a moment to say Happy Birthday to the kid before heading out. Erin and Nat had found an old cosmetic kit in a trunk in Fig's store room and every kid ended up with rouged cheeks and devilish black eyebrows or mustaches drawn on.

Glory arrived just before seven, popping in to press a black lipsticked kiss to Shaun's cheek and pressing a soft red leather book into his hands, whispering something to him before giving Fig a similar kiss and disappearing. Shaun wouldn't let the book out of his sight, carrying it with him throughout the house.

Sheng and Shaun argued about which Wasteland creature was the best, almost getting into a slap fight before Fig broke it up with cake and convincing everyone that they needed to get their nails painted.

Piper supplied four bottles of polish, three reds and a black. It all smelled foul, but the kids sat still as Piper and Fig painted their nails.

Preston had to leave, going to bed early, but saluted Shaun as if he were the General, and making Shaun giggle like a maniac.

The night was wearing on, nearly nine, and Piper was exhausted, dozing on the couch as the kids read comics and sprawled on the floor. Fig hadn't heard from Mac at all since their encounter in Bunker Hill, and had given up on him appearing for the party. They helped the kids get ready for bed, spreading out sleeping bags and making up their bed upstairs for Piper if she wanted to stay.

Shaun wandered into the kitchen in his pajamas, a black pencil mustache drawn on his upper lip, blue eyeshadow streaked across his face.

“Baba.” He sounded tired. Fig was clearing up the plates from dinner, setting them by the sink.

“Yeah, baby. You okay?” They half turned, grunting when Shaun locked his arms around their waist.

“Oh, aw, kiddo.” Fig breathed, crouching down and wrapping their arms around Shaun once more. Shaun didn't say anything, burying his face in their shoulder, smearing blue eyeshadow on their shirt. But Fig could feel tears soaking into the fabric.

“Hey.. Hey, you had such a good time.. Are you okay? You want to sleep in my bed tonight?”

Shaun shook his head, mumbling something into Fig's shoulder, but finally stood up straight, sniffling softly.

“I just had a good time.” He mumbled, rubbing his eye with the side of his fist.

There was a soft clang from behind him and they both turned to look toward the side door.

“I'm really late.” Mac stood, sheepish in the doorway. Shaun didn't rush over to him, but waved sleepily, still holding onto Fig's shoulder.

“Hey, Buddy. Happy birthday. I'm sorry I'm so late. I brought you a present.. Uh, you want to open it tomorrow?” Mac asked, grinning a little at the black smear of eyeliner down Fig's neck, and the splotches of red and blue on their t-shirt. Fig rolled their eyes and stood.

“Yeah, bud! Breakfast presents! Come on, let's get you to bed.” Fig watched Shaun wander off toward his bunk bed, sharing with Nat, who won the rock-paper-scissors for the actual mattress.

“You stick around, Rat. I have dinner for you. And cake.” They said, pointing to the kitchen chair before heading back to the living room.

Once all the kids were tucked in, Piper was asleep on the couch, Fig had turned the lights down and the radio on low, they returned to the kitchen.

MacCready was examining the nail polish Piper had left behind, picking up the black polish and shaking it before setting it back down.

“Good party?”

“It turned out great. He was worried.” Fig sank down in the chair beside him, stifling a yawn against their arm.

“I'm sorry I'm so late. I was stuck at the Hill and then Duncan wouldn't sleep and I couldn't leave him with Kay when he's fussing and then I was halfway here and there was a _cat_ in a _tree_.” He grinned, sliding his hat back on his head. Fig reached out, knocking it on the floor with a little laugh.

“Dirty liar. Lemme paint your nails.” Fig grabbed his hand.

“But my dinner!”

“Punishment for being _four_ hours late.” Fig teased. He didn't pull away, offering Fig his thumb first. They carefully began to fill in his nail, staring down at his rough hands.

“What'd you get him?” Fig asked, moving on to his fingers.

“More models. He liked the ones we found that one time. An eyebot, I think, and a little Mr. Handy.” He said, watching Fig paint his nails a glossy black.

“Oh, good choice. He gave Preston the other ones. He might give these back to you for your birthday.” They laughed, swiping their thumb down the side of Mac's finger to wipe away extra polish. Mac spread his other hand out on the table, enjoying the attention.

They were quiet for a moment, both of them focusing on Mac's hands until his fingernails were fully painted. He sat back, looking at his hands and waving them back and forth to dry the polish.

“Cute?”

“So cute. The cutest.” Fig grinned, looking at the man for a long moment before leaning across the gap between them and kissing him firmly on the mouth. He sucked in a short gasp. His hands hovered in the air on either side of Fig's shoulders, as if he wanted to grab them, but he'd get black paint everywhere. Fig gently looped their hand in his collar and kissed him softer and softer until they sat back down in their chair.

Mac's face was bright red and he hid a smile, looking away with a shy laugh.

“So demure. Wow.” Fig leaned back in their chair, thinking.

“If I take the cap off for you, would you like a beer?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to drink it on the roof of my beautiful home? I have one whole chair up there.”

“I've never wanted anything more.”

* * *

They crowded together in the metal lawnchair, Fig half sitting on Mac's lap, two beers and Mac's dinner in a bowl with a spoon for him to carefully eat. Fig squirmed around until their legs were thrown over Mac's thighs and they leaned back against the arm.

“Can't you sit normally?” Mac sputtered, nearly upending his beer down his front.

“I am! This is normal! You want me to sit _next_ to you? On this chair? We'd get stuck. I'd have to call Sullivan to come free us with vegetable shortening and a spatula.” Fig laughed, sipping their own beer with ease. Mac was holding his like a baby, both hands, and trying not to ruin his nails.

“Did you get your nails done too?” Mac asked, gesturing at Fig's hands. Their bitten nails were painted red, but more paint was on their cuticles and fingers than their nails.

“Nat did them for me. She also wanted to do some makeup, but I am afraid of her jamming a sixty year old eyeliner into my eyeball, so I declined.” Fig laughed, setting their beer on the roof behind them and reaching for Mac's dinner bowl.

“Should I feed you?”

“Oh sure, I never liked this shirt.” MacCready sat forward slightly, chomping his crooked teeth at Fig like a molerat.

“Ewww..” They laughed, scooping the mashed tatoes up with a spoon and pushing it toward him.

“Here comes the airplane.”

“Fig, I am not a bab--” They jammed the spoon into his mouth, muffling his protests. They withdrew the spoon and laughed loudly as he chewed.

“What do I see in you?” Mac wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, scowling at Fig, but not moving, in fact, resting his free hand on their shin as they lounged.

“Sparkling personality. Light fingers. Excellent singer. Meal ticket. We wear the same size shoe.” They counted off on each of their fingers as Mac laughed, resting his head on the back of the chair. He looked up, past the lights of the city, at the sky.

There were no stars, not to be seen by them. He remembered, way way back, at Mass Pike. The smell of fire on the air and holding Fig's hand. The stars. 

“Oh _shit_.” He sighed, sagging back in the chair. Fig looked at him in surprise.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.. No, I just..” He paused, tapping his fingertips against their knee, “I think I might be stupid. I uh.” Mac tipped his head to the side, finally looking at Fig, their eyes searching his.

“I love you. I think I have loved you for a long time.” He said slowly.

Fig's heart stopped in their chest and they breathed out. The feeling of... surprise, of panic, it flowed away and they just felt... happy. Smug, a little. Fig grinned, resting their chin on their hand and jabbing Mac with their pointy elbow.

“Because of my singing skills?”

“Oh, only because of those.” He smiled right back. Fig wanted to keep the bit going, to tease him.. But they literally couldn't stop themselves.

“I love you.” They murmured, reaching out and lightly tugging on his dark hair. MacCready looked like he was about to say something else and Fig covered his mouth with their hand.

“Nope. Just look at the stars for a while.” Fig rested their head against his shoulder, sort of snuggling down against him and Mac's hand came up, cradling their back as they looked up at the sky. The light pollution was all they could see, the white lights reflecting off of each other, coloring the sky a dull gray. 

“Not a single fuckin' star.” Fig muttered, earning a low laugh from MacCready.

“We could pretend?”

“I mean, they're out there someplace...”

The wind picked up, warm and gentle, blowing across them. It felt like the last of the Summer and Fig grinned, quietly linking hands with MacCready.

“Oh, shit, man. You messed up your nails.” Fig sighed, examining the dented polish.

“Let Shaun do them tomorrow.” He said, murmuring into Fig's hair. They grinned, hiding their face against his chest.

Tomorrow would be a new day, something big and special about it. Something new and different. Something they could handle together.


	11. Home Treatments for Hypothermia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Months pass. MacCready talks science (tm) with Shaun. Fig and Shaun talk about Gender. MacCready makes a decision. Fig has a dream.

Shaun was sprawled over the end of MacCready's sofa, his stomach pressed to the white-ish leather, his bare feet pressed to the wall. His arms and head hung down and he was calmly turning page after page in another thick book he borrowed from his teacher.

Duncan sat on the floor by Shaun's arm, chewing on the collar of his little t-shirt and watching Shaun read. They had been sitting that way for twenty minutes, with short breaks for Shaun to mumble a word to himself and then say it louder, explaining what it meant to the kid sitting at his side. Every so often, Shaun would point to a picture of some creature and explain where it was from, what it ate, how long it lived, and if it was dangerous. Duncan hung on every word, leaning forward to put his small, sticky hands on the page, as if touching the paper would help him absorb the words.

MacCready sat at the little dining table, barely moving. He had settled under the pretense of cleaning his guns but he was afraid if he moved or made a noise, they would notice he was there and the moment would be ruined.

It was a quiet afternoon, late October, nearing Halloween. Fig had arrived that morning with Shaun and plans to stay for supper. But they had to step out to help Kessler with.. something. They usually had to step out to help someone with something. It was frustrating, Fig rarely made time for themselves, even with a kid or two and MacCready waiting on them.

Shaun paused, squinting at the page and then looked up at MacCready, back to the page.

“MacCready? Baba said you're from the Capitol Wasteland?”

MacCready, aware of being noticed, set his gun aside and leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees. 

“Yeah, born and raised. Duncan too.” Duncan brightened, looking up at the mention of his name and smiled at his father. His scars were fading, but he was still smaller than most kids his age, and had some trouble speaking. He would sometimes be wracked with coughing fits, or have trouble taking in deep breaths. It sent MacCready into a numb panic when it would happen. That day though, he looked fine. He was dressed and bathed and moving around. It was all anyone could ask for.

“This book, Mr. Zwicky lent it to me. And it has all of the flora and fauna of the Commonwealth but it has a lot of other places too and...” Shaun paused, looking at the page and frowning.

“This is from where you're from. I've never seen it before?” Shaun lifted the book with a grunt, offering it across the room to the older man. Mac reached out, taking the page and looking down at it.

“Oh _gross_. Okay.” He made a comedy gagging sound which made Duncan snort, but Shaun didn't laugh, staring at Mac with his wide, dark eyes. The picture was horrifying, even for a technical book. Not a photo, but a drawing in pencil. The Centaur loomed on the page, slimy, bony, too many arms, too few eyes. Tongues, teeth...

“We don't have Centaurs up here. Uh. So, they're.. uh..” MacCready paused, scratching his jaw. He closed the book around his finger, holding Shaun's place, but fixing his eyes on the kid.

“You know how the Super Mutants are around? And how.. they're like people but they're--”

“Bigger and stronger and they can eat a lot of stuff and they don't get cold and they have those dogs and they live a really long time and--” Shaun cut in, his face flushing as he rolled over, trying to struggle off of the couch. Mac almost stood to help, but Shaun twisted around until he tumbled off the edge of the couch and landed on his knees. The kid crawled around to Duncan's side and sat next to him, putting a hand out. Duncan put his hand into Shaun's, clearly delighted at the offer.

“Yeah, all that. Uh, so. There were some science men--”

“Scientists.”

“Yep. Uh, they made a virus that makes evolution happen uhh.. Faster? And they experimented on humans. To turn them into Super Mutants.. And other stuff. Um. I don't really know all about it. Fig might know more from when they were working with the Brotherhood?”

“With the big airship!” Shaun made a spitty explosion noise and Duncan let out a loud shriek of laughter, staring at the older boy with a wide eyed fondness.

“Uh, so. The virus, some people were experimenting with it and they made the Super Mutants but they also made Centaurs. Which is why.. uh, they look the way they do. I know they're around the Capitol, but they could be other places too..”

“The book said they might be further West. Oh, look at this.” Shaun jumped up, stumbling a little as he barreled toward MacCready. It would happen everytime Mac would start a project. But if left alone with the boys, he'd spend most of his afternoon listening to Shaun talk about a creature, or helping Duncan with one of his art projects. If he wasn't paying attention, something would end up broken or someone would by crying. It was better to be on guard. 

Shaun paged through the book, standing at MacCready's side. He was vibrating with excitement, his lower lip pinched firmly between his teeth.

“Look! Look at that!” Shaun thrust the book at Mac's face, nearly slapping him with the pages, but MacCready peered down at the page.

“Fire Gecko...” MacCready read, taking the book back from Shaun. Shaun nodded eagerly, staring at the older man.

“It breathes.. _FIRE_.” 

“Goodsprings... Primm... Mo-Jahve? Where in the heck..?” MacCready looked at the page, flicking back to the front of the book to find a map. “New Vegas. They thrive in a dry, hot environment, usually at a high altitude.” Mac read out loud, his eyes scanning over the tiny print, “Jeez.. I've _never_ seen something like this.” Mac muttered, paging back and forth between the different gecko entries, three pages worth, including one that apparently spit acid.

With their big, staring eyes, and fat little bellies, MacCready wasn't surprised when Shaun let out a soft breath and pointed to the page.

“Aren't they cute? Dunk, aren't they cute?” Shaun turned, taking the book from MacCready's hands and dropping back down next to Duncan once more. Mac wasn't his preferred audience. He never made the right noises or asked the right questions. Shaun liked to read to Duncan, to explain things to him. And Duncan liked having things read to him.

The door swung inward and all three looked up, Fig silhouetted by the lights from the market. They were wrapped in a black jacket and had a yellow scarf wrapped around the bottom half of their face and over their head. They staggered in, dropping a heavy pack by the door.

“Never again.” Fig grumbled, peeling off layer after layer of coat, jacket, sweater, to their worn flannel. They leaned over Shaun, kissing his forehead three times, offering the same to Duncan, but he shied away, hiding his face against Shaun's armpit. It didn't hurt Fig's feelings, knowing they could be a little loud for the kid. They offered him their hand and Duncan took it, squeezing one of Fig's fingers before giving them a shy smile. Fig smiled back. 

“Never again?” Mac asked, casually pushing his project to the side, as if to give Fig ample space to offer themselves up for his attention. Fig rolled their eyes at the question and crouched down at his side.

“Kessler asked me for 'Just a little favor' and it took me near out to the _airport_. I was supposed to make dinner tonight! Just a little favor. My ass, just a little favor! I'm never coming back here again. She knew I was here to visit you guys, she took advantage of my relaxed state of mind.” Fig muttered, bitterly lamenting their own inability to say 'No'. They pulled a few cans out of their bag, setting them by Mac's elbow. He watched them, biting back a smile as Fig finally unloaded their pack and sat back on their heels.

“You forgetting anything?” Mac asked, casual.

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Shaun, am I forgetting anything?” Fig asked, rubbing their hands over their eyes. Shaun looked up from his book, glancing at the two adults and twitching a shoulder in a little shrug.

Fig looked at MacCready, suddenly grinning to themselves. He was sitting beside them, Fig's arm resting on his thigh as he waited.

“You miss me?” Fig asked, sitting up a little, jabbing him with their elbows.

“Ow, stop that. Yes. I missed you dealing me damage with your elbows. Do you sharpen them at night?” Mac pushed Fig's elbow off of his leg, only for them to jam their other elbow against the top of his knee. He yelped, grabbing both of Fig's arms and holding them up, his hands wrapped around their wrists. Fig was laughing, snorting and resting their chest against his leg.

“I thought you'd like that! High grade sandpaper, _baby_. Just really hone the bones to a fine point. I could cut glass with these elbows.”

Mac rolled his eyes dramatically, pulling Fig's arms forward and watching Fig's face light up. They leaned up, breathing out an eager laugh that was smothered against MacCready's mouth. He kissed them softly, letting go of their hands to cup their face, holding them still for a moment. He could hear laughter from the boys, but didn't stop, kissing Fig twice more before letting them go. Fig was flushed, grinning up at him before they turned toward Shaun and Duncan.

“You two want to help me make dinner?” They gasped.

“Nah, they're going to help _me_ make dinner. Right, Shaun? Duncan?” MacCready stood up, pointing to each boy. Shaun shot a worried look at Fig, but stood, putting his book back on the couch.

“Is.. do you have a recipe...?” Shaun asked, his voice going a little high, but he offered his hands to Duncan, helping the boy to his feet.

“Don't need one, we're going to experiment. Be science men!”

“Scientists.”

“That's the word.”

Fig sat back, watching the trio head into the tiny kitchenette, a huge smile on their face. The dinner would be inedible, probably. But... They couldn't help the warmth in their chest.

* * *

Duncan was tucked up in his cot, wrapped in a blanket and sleeping half sitting up, propped up on two pillows. He had to sleep that way, his lungs weak. Shaun snored nearby, conked out in MacCready's bed. He had one arm outstretched to the younger boy, the book of Wasteland Wildlife between them on the floor.

Just one floor below them sprawled on the couch, MacCready was falling asleep. Fig laid on his chest, their knee jammed into his thigh, head resting heavily over his heart.

“Did you pick the couch because it's ugly or because it fit through the door?” Fig mumbled, one of their hands jammed into Mac's armpit for warmth, the other one tucked under their cheek. Mac groaned softly, threading his fingers through Fig's hair.

“Both.” He grinned, shifting against the cushions to stretch a leg out, almost kneeing Fig in the stomach.

“This isn't going to work.. I'm gonna have to sleep at the Savoldi's aren't I?” Fig sighed, closing their eyes as Mac wriggled his other leg down to rest on the floor.

“It's fine.” Mac yawned, his eyelids heavy.

“Mm.” Fig sighed, curling their fingers in the soft fabric of his t-shirt. It was their first night together in weeks.. The first night together since sitting on the roof of Fig's house and talking about L-O-V-E. It was so comfortable.. No awkwardness. No weird stiffness or formality. They ate a fairly horrible dinner, the boys read more of Shaun's book, they fell asleep and Fig and Mac retired to the world's most uncomfortable couch. It felt so normal.

“I put out a call through Doc Weathers for an albuterol inhaler for Duncan.” Fig murmured, rubbing their cheek against his chest. Mac's hand stilled for a moment, but he continued to gently pet Fig's dark hair.

“Thanks.” His voice was soft, thoughtful.

“For his lungs.. I know you were worried. It might help.” Fig felt their body getting heavy, sleep creeping up on them.

“Thanks.” MacCready repeated.

He shifted again and Fig groaned, feeling him sitting up.

“Noo..” Fig whined softly. Mac moved, gently tipping Fig to the side, and laid down, crowding up behind Fig. Fig helped pull the spare blanket down off the back of the couch and tug it over their bodies.

“One of us is gonna end up on the floor.” Fig muttered, comfortably settled against the back of the sofa, Mac in the danger zone of being dumped onto the carpet.

“It's okay, I've slept worse places.” He grinned, pressing a little kiss to the back of Fig's neck as they settled.

“Freeway overpass.” Fig offered.

“Billboard ledge.” MacCready murmured.

“Salem.”

“University Point.”

“Libertalia.”

“Libertalia.” MacCready agreed, tightening his hold around Fig's waist and smiling, feeling Fig relax into his arms and rest against him.

“I've never seen one man get so seasick.”

“I told you, I don't do heights.”

“Or fish. _Jesus_ , what a smell.”

“This is the opposite of romance. This is the death of romance.”

“I'm just saying, I had to throw that jacket away.”

“I make you a beautiful dinner and offer you my most medium comfortable couch and you repay me this way?”

“I loved that jacket.”

“I cooked a whole green bean. From a can.”

“I had so many pockets in that jacket.” Fig half rolled to face him, almost elbowing Mac in the gut, but he inched back, giving them space. Mac slid his hand through their hair again, pushing Fig's short bangs off their face. Their brutal scar, the one Mac loved so much, it cut their cheek in two, a gnarly thing with puckered skin down either side.

“How'd you get this one?” He asked, brushing his thumb over it, tracing the line from just under their eye, across their cheek and down past their nose.

“Deathclaw. First day out of the freezer. Preston had to carry me back to Sanctuary. I felt like a damsel.” Fig closed their eyes, offering their face up for inspection as MacCready gently brushed his fingers down the side of their face.

“But you weren't scared.” Mac grinned.

“I'm never scared. I'm the General. I have balls of steel. Or whatever.” Fig yawned, covering their mouth. They blinked their eyes open, looking up at MacCready with a fond smile.

“You still trying to be a romantic?” Fig asked, reaching up to lightly tug on his dark hair, brushing it up off of his face. It fell back down, straight and clean. His hat was probably upstairs, clutched in the hands of one of the boys.

“Is it working?” MacCready grinned, kissing the side of Fig's mouth and moving lower, brushing soft kisses along their neck.

“Aahh, that tickles.” Fig squirmed, retracting their neck like a turtle and pressing a fingertip to his forehead to hold him back.

“Oh? It what?” MacCready sat up a little, looking down at Fig with a wide smile.

“Don't you dare.” Fig scowled.

“Dare what?” MacCready blinked, innocent. His hand skated over Fig's ribs and higher, inching under their armpit and gently pressing to their skin.

“Ah! Mac!” Fig squirmed away, a breathless gasp of laughter bursting out of them. Mac threw a leg over Fig's thighs and gently dug his fingers into first their armpit and then down their side. Fig yelped, laughing and swatting at his hand. Fig reached up, pulling on his hair roughly, earning a grunt from Mac. He almost tipped backward, but caught himself on the back of the couch, leaving his own torso exposed. Fig dug their fingers into his sides, just along his ribs and Mac let out a loud squeal, dropping back down over Fig and trying to grab their hands, to stop them. He pinned their hands between them, collapsed on the sofa. His legs were thrown over Fig and he was breathing hard, face flushed. Fig stared up at him, their dark eyes fixed on his face and they were grinning, a slow smile.

Fig inched up, sitting up on one elbow and kissed him. The kiss was firm, Fig's mouth hot under his. Mac groaned softly, leaning into it with a wobbling sigh. He slid his hand free, trailing it through their hair and down to their neck, cupping the side of their neck with warm fingers. Fig arched into his hand, sliding their free hand around the back of his neck. He groaned again, a low, rough sound against Fig's mouth.

Fig's hand inched up Mac's side, creeping under his shirt to stroke over his skin. He felt hot to the touch, raised white scars on his sides, chest. Fig shivered, opening their mouth under his with a soft sound, a hesitant moan.

_“Baba?”_

Shaun's voice cut through the moment like a knife. He sounded like he was still upstairs, sleepy. Like he was confused.

Fig broke out of the kiss with a soft curse, kicking the blankets off their legs. Mac rolled to the side, giving them room to stand. Fig paused, leaning over him to kiss Mac's forehead before they climbed the stairs to the second story. As they climbed the stairs, they could see Shaun struggling to sit up, rubbing his eyes and reaching for his book. He wobbled, like he was going to cry, like he was going to sob. But his eyes fixed on Fig's face and the abject panic, the misery etched on his face, it dissipated. 

Fig dropped down onto the edge of Mac's mattress, Shaun sitting up and clutching his book to his chest.

“Hey buddy.” Fig grinned, tucking his blankets around him.

“I.. I woke up and I didn't.. I didn't know where we were.” He breathed, looking around the room with his dark eyes.

“Bunker Hill. With the boys.”

“I know now.. I just.. I got scared.” He mumbled, looking down at his knees.

“That's okay. I get scared too. Especially if I wake up someplace new.” Fig reached out, offering Shaun their hand. He took it, holding tightly. Their fingers linked together, Fig's scarred, rough ones, and Shaun's soft pale ones.

“I had a dream... It.. I...” He frowned, closing his eyes tightly. Fig didn't speak, but helped him lay back on the mattress, carefully setting his book aside and tucking the blankets over him.

“What would you say to a bedtime story?” Fig whispered, gently petting his hair. Shaun looked up at them, seeing just the shadows on their face.

“Baba...” Shaun stretched his legs out behind Fig and they turned to make sure his feet were tucked in.

“Yeah, bud.”

“Baba... when I dream, sometimes... there are colors and I can't describe them and I feel... There are sounds and they're so _loud_ and I feel...” Shaun sighed, all the air leaving his body and he looked up at his parent with a look of resignation, as if he couldn't articulate what he wanted to say. Fig linked hands with him again, squishing his thumb with their thumb and he squeezed their hand right back.

“You don't have to explain right now. You want your journal? You can write it down. We'll talk about it more tomorrow.” Fig offered. Shaun looked up at them for a long moment before shaking his head and settling down against the pillow.

Beside them, Duncan snorted in his sleep, unaware of anything going on beside him.

“You want a bedtime story?” Fig asked. Shaun shook his head, snuggling deeper under the covers, "You want me to sit with you for a while?" Fig offered. Shaun nodded at that.

“Love you, pal.” Fig whispered. Shaun nodded, leaning up to accept a kiss to the cheek, before going limp again.

“Love you, Baba.”

Fig sat with him for a while, tracing shapes on his palm with their fingertip until his breath evened out and he slept, really really asleep. Fig made sure Duncan was tucked in and the lights were low before they moved back down the steps into the living room.

MacCready was sprawled where they had left him, snoring softly. He was half sitting against the back of the couch, but moved when Fig pushed him to the side. Fig settled in his arms, tucking the blanket around them as Mac dropped his arm round their waist. Fig looked into the darkness of his shack, happy, worried, happy, worried.. It was the weirdest feeling. But it felt good to have something to worry about.

* * *

“How do you know when you're a boy or a girl or what..ever?” Shaun asked. They were crossing the Zakim Memorial Bridge from Bunker Hill back into the city. The day was cold, but clear. Shaun had his coat buttoned up around his ears, Fig's yellow scarf wrapped around him. Fig glanced down the long bridge. They were alone, but they kept an eye out.

“That's a good question, kid. I think it depends on the person. And it can change with age. Some people, when they're born, feel at home in their skin. Some people feel wrong. Or feel alright at first, and feel a little off the older they get.”

“Like you?”

“Like me. For sure. When I was born, I even had a different name.”

“You can have a new name?”

“Hell yeah!”

Shaun was quiet then, his little backpack weighed down with his books, a couple of comics MacCready had given him, and a drawing from Duncan. He walked by Fig's side as they entered the city, making the climb back to Diamond City. They were skirting the Common, the trip would take an hour or so.

As they passed by Cabot House, Shaun looked toward the clanking sentry and then to Fig again. 

“So... sometimes you can feel okay but sometimes... maybe um.. like.. you feel weird when people call you 'son' or 'boy' or or or... Or you just feel.. wrong...?” He trailed off, his face bright red.

“Do you feel that way?” Fig asked, reaching for his hand and letting their hands swing between them. Shaun looked up at them with worried dark brows.

“Sometimes.” He was chewing on his lower lip, hand gripped so tight around Fig's hand that it hurt their knuckles. They drew him against their side, holding onto him as they walked.

“When I was your age, I felt like neither a boy or a girl. I didn't feel like either. But I didn't tell anyone because I didn't know I could. And I met Jamie. Jamie was um.. They were your other Baba. They felt the same way I did. About being a boy or a girl. And I felt comfortable telling them how I felt. And you can find people like that. People you can make a family with. And they make you feel safe and comfortable with yourself.” Fig said, helping Shaun over a pile of rubble, walking with him toward Storrow Drive, avoiding a group of camping Super Mutants near an abandoned department store. 

Shaun chewed on his lower lip, staring down at his feet.

“Okay.” He breathed, clinging to Fig's hand, looking like he was lost in thought.

“Talk to me about it whenever you want. Or we can find some other people who might want to talk about it... Some cooler people.” Fig teased. Shaun let out a soft squawk, lightly batting at Fig's hand.

“ _You're_ cool!”

“Oh, thanks, pal. You're cool too.”

* * *

“Dr. Sun says the humidity isn't any good for his lungs.”

MacCready had been laying on Fig's couch for a good twenty minutes, Duncan laying on his chest. Shaun was working on homework, sitting at his little desk near his bed. Fig was sitting on the floor, their back against the couch. They had Minuteman papers spread out on the coffee table, a pen tucked behind their ear. A cold gust of wind whipped under the door and Fig watched a small eddy of their papers gust off of the coffee table and onto the floor. 

They half turned, looking up at Mac, seeing Duncan staring at them. They lifted a finger and gently looped it with Duncan's finger.

“Even with the inhaler?” Fig said softly, stroking their thumb against Duncan's fingers. Duncan watched them closely, ear pressed to MacCready's chest, like he was listening to Mac breathe.

“He said... the illness, it did something to his lungs. He said Duncan... he said he's small. For his age. And he's behind in some uh, I dunno, development. He should talk more. He should be bigger... There is medication he can take, but usually they recommend people who have this kind of damage, they have to move someplace dry."

“Boston is basically a swamp.”

“Most of it is below sea level.” Mac muttered, rubbing Duncan's back as the kid turned his attention from Fig, to Shaun across the room.

“Hey!” Duncan called out, watching Shaun turn to look. Duncan snorted with laughter, grinning at the older kid.

Shaun's face broke with a surprised smile and he turned back to his schoolwork. Duncan giggled, but the giggle grew quiet, a soft wheeze taking its place. Fig and Mac looked at him, matching expressions of panic. 

“Where the hell is dry around here?” Fig asked, resting the back of their head against Mac's leg.

Fig stared up at the ceiling, watching the dust motes travel lazily through the air.

“It's probably bad for him to be in here too.. It's dusty..” Fig could hear the bustle of the Diamond City market outside the house, Moe Cronin's voice raised up above all others.

Mac's hand rested on their shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“Maybe.. I dunno. Maybe out at Sunshine Tidings or something.” He said softly. Fig knew that was no good either, it was just as humid, just as wet and the winters were just as miserable.

Their gut twisted and Fig sat forward slightly, drawing their knees to their chest.

“Shit.” Fig breathed. Mac didn't even try to correct the curse.

“ _Shit_.” He replied. Fig's hand came up, closing around Mac's and squeezed.

* * *

MacCready was on watch, sitting on the stupid scaffolding overlooking Bunker Hill. He had been on for an hour or two already, staring out at the icy silent streets. His fingers ached and he was bundled up more than he'd like. The hat made it hard to hear, the fingerless gloves made his hands clumsy. The night was dark, It made him think of a poem, but he couldn't remember the words, just how it sounded in his head.

A minute or so later, a person dropped into the chair beside him.

“What's that poem? About the woods?” Mac asked, expecting Kessler or Kay, but came face to face with Fig. They were wearing that old yellow scarf, but it was dotted with blood and they had a bandage across their eyebrow.

“What happened to you? What are you doing here?” Mac asked, setting his rifle to the side for the first time that night and reaching for the General. Fig slipped their arm around his neck and hugged Mac tightly.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too. Uh, I got walloped by a Super Mutant on the way in. Sent me through a wooden fence. It's fine.” Fig muttered, pressing their cold nose against Mac's neck, leaning into him for a second.

“Which poem?” They asked, settling back into their seat, tucking their cold hands into their pocket.

“What are you doing here?” Mac repeated, looking at Fig's flushed face.

“Walking some people up from Goodneighbor. Which poem?” Fig asked, clenching their teeth together to keep them from chattering.

“The one... uh, the woods are dark?”

“Oh um... The woods are lovely, dark and deep?”

“Yeah, that one. It's like that, tonight.”

“It's about death.”

“Not Boston?”

“I mean..” Fig laughed, a short bark and Mac felt his heart squeeze in his chest. He looked at the General for a moment before closing the gap between them, kissing Fig firmly.

Fig leaned into it with a low sound, eyes closed tight. They leaned back with a guilty sigh, opening one eye to squint up at Mac.

“I'm only here for a minute.. I came up to say Hi/Goodbye.”

“Oh what the hell, Fig. I haven't seen you in--” Mac wanted to sound strong, stern, but it came off like a whine. Fig reached out, grabbing his shoulder, squeezing him a little. 

“I know. I know. It's... If I work up to Christmas, I can get some time off. And we can spend the holiday together.” Fig offered. Mac looked at them, wondering when they'd pop in again, a minute, an hour, and then, gone again.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” Fig offered, knowing how stupid it sounded.

“I can barely remember your face.” Mac grumbled, looking down at his feet for a second. Fig stood. Mac reached out and looped his arm around Fig's waist.

“Stay the night.” His voice was low and urgent. He sounded like he was begging. Fig's knees felt like jelly. They covered Mac's hands with their hands, feeling his icy fingers against their palms.

“I've got so much work to do still. Uh, miles to go before I sleep.” Fig said, looking down at his upturned face, his chin pressed to their jacket. Fig squeezed his shoulder and stepped back. Mac's eyes followed them, watching. 

“You love me?” Fig asked, backing toward the ramp down to the ground.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Say it, Rat!” Fig demanded, grinning at him. MacCready's face flared red and he covered his eyes with his hand for a second.

“Rat!”

“The whole town will hear me.”

“ _So_?” Fig's eyebrows shot up.

“Oh God, okay. Fine. I love you.”

“Ah-Ha! I knew it. I love you too.” Fig stepped down, climbing back down to the concrete and back toward the single door out to the street.

“Be careful!” Mac called out, standing to watch them go.

“I always am!”

“That's such a lie!”

* * *

MacCready arrived at the Castle in a flurry of movement. They had been building some big fucking thing around the back, facing the bay. It looked like a dock or a pier or something. He didn't know the word. People were busy futzing with the boats, mopping, putting out sand and salt to keep the pier free from ice.

He was barely noticed as he skulked from place to place.

“Anyone seen the General?” Mac asked. Nobody had.

He had just come in from Diamond City. Fig wasn't there either. Shaun was, he was in school. Piper directed Mac to the Castle.

“They're not here? You sure?” Mac interrogated anyone who gave him a second look until the Radioman, Craig or Greg or Gregg waved him down.

“The General went to Spectacle Island with a few men to set up a new settlement. They left two days ago. They went by boat.” He sounded like he did on the radio, but he was looking up at MacCready like he knew Mac wouldn't like it.

“Boat?”

“Boat.”

“They got another one of those _boats_?” Mac asked. The Radioman pointed him toward the door out to the road where Preston was coming up, carrying a heavy pack.

"Garvey is coming back from Jamaica Plain. He's the only one who is free to take you. If he is free." Craig turned back to his task, leaving Mac to rush toward the doors.

“Garvey! We're friends, right?” Mac called out, walking toward Fig's second in command. Preston paused, not expecting the mercenary to be hanging out in the courtyard.

“Um..”

“I need to get out to Spectacle Island. I need to see Fig. It's urgent.”

Preston slowly let his bag drop to the ground and checked the time on his pocket watch. It ticked in his palm, warm and golden and Mac stared at him, vibrating with suppressed movement.

“Preston?!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Come on. You know how to swim?”

“What?”

“We're taking a boat! I'm not going to drown because you don't have the patience to wait for Fig to come back.”

“I can swim!”

* * *

The craft was a Boston Whaler, a small motorboat with a blue fiberglass frame and wooden seats. _McGann_ was stenciled in red across the stern. MacCready clung to the seat as Preston piloted them from the dock and out into the choppy December sea. The water splashed up, spattering his coat and Mac's fingers gripped the edge of the gunwale. He was shivering, the wind icy and harsh against his face. Preston had offered him a lifejacket, but Mac waved him off, preferring to hang on for dear life whenever the boat would hit a swell.

Spectacle Island loomed ahead of them, the island melting into the icy fog of the bay. It was the early afternoon, but the sky was iron dark with waiting snow and both men were looking toward the island when the flare burst. It hung in the air, red and glowing and Mac's heart slammed into his ribs.

“Fuck!” Preston gasped, gunning the engine and sending them rocketing across the surface of the bay. Fig _never_ remembered flares. If someone sent one up, it was bad. Bad-Bad. Mac felt his blood go icy cold in his veins and he kept his eyes locked on the flare as they came about to the dock.

He could hear the shooting even before Preston had pulled up. Mac jumped, leaping awkwardly out of the boat and onto the wood, nearly falling. It was slick with seawater. Preston threw him a rope and he tied off to the cleat, not even hesitating to help Preston climb up beside him. He rushed, running thoughtlessly toward the crumbling buildings. The shooting was coming from the far side of the island, at least a mile down. There were iced over trees, a crumbling farm house and a well lit barn with a few crates stacked outside.

Mac came around the building and slammed into someone. His feet shot out from under him and he landed hard on the frozen dirt.

“Oh fuck.” He wheezed.

“Rat?” Fig's voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. He looked up, staring at the stranger, the General. They were holding their flare gun in one hand, still smoking. Bad. 

“Did.. Did you take a boat? Did you see the flare? Oh, Preston.” Fig had blood on their jacket, nothing new, but they were clutching their hand to their side, blood dripping down.

“What happened?” Mac struggled to his feet, taking Fig's free hand.

Preston was right there, already holding his rifle and looking around at the salt crusted buildings.

“Where is everyone?”

“So, about this island...”

“Fig, what happened?” Mac asked, grabbing their hand and holding it up, a gash from their palm down, nearly slicing into the thin skin of their wrist.

“Jesus!” Mac fumbled in his pocket, finding an old bandanna to wrap around the wound.

“There are a fuckload of mirelurks. All kinds. We.. we turned on this generator and they all popped out of the dirt. They have a radio beacon here.. I got a message to the Castle for more people, but..” Fig stopped short, their voice cracking and Mac noticed how wet they were, how muddy their clothes.. Their hair was plastered to their face and they were shivering.

“They're almost all gone. It's just me and Stockard and Clarey. Has been for an hour. I lost Martins... Frederick... Tobias... They just dragged Martins into the water..” Fig rubbed a hand over their face and looked back toward the other end of the beach.

“All three?” Preston's voice was hushed, a low gasp like he had been punched. They were his guys.

Fig wobbled. Preston and MacCready moved at the same time, the same urge to put their arms around Fig and hold them up. But Fig shook them off, grabbing their swatter off the ground and pointing back down the beach. Mac could see a half sunk boat struck with rust and mud.

“Back there. They're back there. We can do it. We can clear it. I just... I needed a minute. I got it. We can do it.” Fig said, their voice savage.

“Let _us_ do it.” Mac grabbed their shoulder, trying to hold Fig back, but they shrugged him off again.

“No! I.. They took three guys. Not even new guys. They've been around since we took the Castle back. It has to be me.”

“ _It doesn't have to be you!_ ” Mac tried again, grabbing Fig's hand and holding tightly, feeling their blood soaking through the bandage. Fig looked at him then, staring hard at his face, a face they knew so well. They looked at him as if they had never seen another human before.

“I can't just sit in a barn and wait for everyone to get killed by some stupid crabs! I'm the.. fuckin' General. This is _my_ responsibility.” Preston hadn't said anything, but started off, walking quickly away from the argument and toward the sounds of gunfire. Fig followed, letting go of Mac's hand.

He caught up to them, his heart pounding.

* * *

Stockard and Clarey had crouched down in the bunker on the top of the hill, taking potshots at the crabs trying to climb up the hill. They were slowed by the slick grass and the furniture and broken wood they had been chucking at them, but they were making headway. Preston and Mac took two out with their long range rifles and joined the trapped Minutemen along with Fig. Preston offered Clarey a stimpack for his leg, bloody and clearly mangled by one of the large pincers. He stayed in the half bunker, trying to fix the stupid speaker.

Stockard and Fig took up the fight with a Hunter scuttling toward them. Fig smashed with their swatter, Stockard getting in with a machete. It collapsed, a pile of goop left behind. Fig moved on, fighting through two more 'Lurks until one knocked the bat from their hand and they fell, hitting the frozen sand with a gasp. Mac wasted no time, two shots and it was done.

Fig looked over their shoulder at him, offering the sniper a grim smile.

But the activity, moving down to the beach.. It woke _Her_ up.

The Mirelurk queen roared out of the sand like a monster from a bad movie. Fig stumbled to their feet, backing up toward the group near the trees. Mac reached for them, grabbing Fig's shoulder and their hand came up, closing around Mac's hand. Preston shouldered his rifle, Stockard readied her grenades. Fig gripped their swatter. Mac lifted his rifle.

* * *

Fig had never been so tired. They were running empty before they even ran into the 'Lurks. It had been a terrible two days. They were cold and sore and angry. Everything was pissing them off. Why did it have to be them, there? Why did the General need to help set the stupid settlement up? Their kid was in school, Christmas was coming, they hadn't had a real day off in almost... almost... a year? That couldn't have been right... But no, it was a almost year. It was January. Too cold to do anything but stick around the Castle and wait for it to warm up. A year?

And Fig was worried about Mac, about Duncan, about Shaun. Fig was stretched so thin and they were losing big chunks of time, traveling from place to place until they could almost sleep standing up like a horse.

So, getting sent out to Spectacle Island because Preston was in Jamaica Plain... a misery. Then the 'Lurks popped up. And everything went pearshaped.

* * *

The fighting was wet and miserable. They were working down the beach, trying to stagger the Queen, but she was so fucking big and so strong. Fig was covered in sand and blood and Mirelurk guts. It was in their hair and stuck to their clothes. They kept stumbling, missing the sure footing of not-sand, and almost eating shit and falling in the icy water. It took half an hour to boat from the Castle to the Island.. Where were they? Where was the fucking back up?

Mac was higher on the hill, taking shots when he could, but he needed to make them count. His gun didn't like the salt, the snow.. He moved, crossing down the slope to take another shot. And watched through the scope as Fig turned to check.. Check what? The pier? To see if the other boats were there.

Mac would remember that look for the rest of his days. Fig's jaw lifted, eyes focused on the pier, on the buildings. Their coat flapped in the wind, heavy with ice and blood. They looked like... like a painting. Something beautiful and permanent. It was etched into his memory.

The Queen lifted one of her shitty little arm things and knocked Fig off their feet and into the water.

* * *

Fig flew through the air and crashed into the water. It was.. It was so cold. It was so much colder than they thought it would be. It sucked the warmth from their body, leaching it from their very bones. Fig was shocked. They took short, gasping breaths, but their arms wouldn't work and they sank below the waves. They tried to remember scouts. What had they been taught in scouts? _Brave thrifty and true, we will now be sinking you?_ No!

Fig struggled, trying to slap the water, keep themselves afloat.

Hours and hours and hours. Or maybe seconds later, Fig's head broke the surface of the water. They dunked under again, but grabbed at a stray piece of wood, trying to stay afloat. Kick. Come on muscles, KICK. Back to shore, you can do it!

Over the sound of their own ragged breath, Fig could hear someone yelling. It wasn't them. Who was it?

The water around them exploded, big red flowers, pink and blue. A hand came out of the flower and grabbed the lapel of their coat. And they were hauled from the water and out onto the beach. They could hear a song in their head.

“I could die easy.” Fig sang, or thought they did. Maybe they just thought it. Their icy hand came up, numbly bumping into an arm, a hand.

“We gotta get 'em to the barn. PRESTON, I'm taking Fig back! Fuck!” MacCready sounded mad. Fig wondered what why. They stumbled, their feet heavy. They were so cold.

“Mac.” They whispered, tripping over something, a dead creature. A crab.

“Mac..” Fig repeated, tripping again and falling, landing on their knees. And Mac helped them up again, hauling Fig roughly to their feet and walking them faster back toward the barn.

"Come on, General. Walk. Walk. Keep going. Fuck.. Fuck, Fig!" MacCready's voice was high, nervous. He was cursing. 

“Oh m-m-man, you l-l-like me so much.” Fig laughed, their teeth clattering together with a shiver that shocked their whole body. Oh, that wasn't good.

Mac kicked the door open and stumbled, setting Fig down on one of the cots they had set up. He was moving quickly, pulling an empty barrel out and throwing things into it, wood, papers. And then it was on fire. Fig's eyes kept slipping shut and they had a hard time sitting up straight.

“Fig.” Mac's voice cut through their stupor and they blinked their eyes open, looking for him.

“Come on, gotta get you out of those clothes. Shit. Okay, come on.” Mac was undoing the buttons of Fig's coat, layer after layer of frozen fabric.

“C-C..C-ould.. have j-j-just ask..ked me to und-d-dress, Mac..” Fig's teeth clacked together loudly and Mac, sure the door was closed behind him, stripped down to his undershorts, and then, not his undershorts. Fig was naked, their skin bottle blue white, all veins and bruises and black spiraling tattoos. Mac wanted to appreciate it, the first time he'd ever seen them undressed, but he dragged Fig's cot closer to the fire and crowded under the blanket with them. He pressed his body to theirs, grabbing another blanket, another.. Four total, and bundling them close.

“OH. Your f-f..feet are cold..” Fig gasped, burying their face in his neck, helpless to the shivers wracking their body.

“I know, I'm sorry.. I had to get in the water to save someone.” Mac breathed, his hands rough against Fig's bare back. Another tremble wracked Fig's body and they gasped, clutching Mac's shoulder.

“T-Th..They were stupid to f-f-f-fall in..” Fig wheezed.

“Shh, it's okay.” Mac muttered, holding tightly to Fig and trying to warm them, trying to remember the medic training he had eavesdropped on at the Castle.

“M-M-M..M..ac..” Fig gasped, clutching his shoulder and letting out a breathless, uneven laugh, “Y-You fin..ally got me t-to stay the ni-i-ight..” They laughed. Mac snorted, looking down at their pale face, streaked with dirt and foul guts..

“This was my plan all along. You get hypothermia, almost die... I get you naked.” He said, looking around the room. The fire was warming everything around them, the blankets were good.. He had only gone in the water to his thighs.. But Fig felt so cold.

“Stay awake Fig.. Fig, wake up. Come on.” He jiggled them, earning a low gasp and Fig clutched at his shoulders again.

“W-Wh..Why.. are you here?” Fig murmured, their eyes focusing on the side of his jaw, the sharp point of his nose.

Why was he there? He had something to tell them. Oh.

“That can wait. Come on, tell me about.. um, Shaun's Christmas presents.” He nudged Fig, watching them loll from sleep to waking and look up at him, staring at his face.

“Oh, I l-l..l-ove you..” Fig grinned, clenching their teeth together, “I l-l..oved you s..ince M-Ma..Mass P-P-P--”

“Pike. Mass Pike?” Mac brought their icy hand to his mouth and he breathed on it, trying to warm their fingers.

There was a crash from outside, voices. More voices. Reinforcements. Fig closed their eyes tightly, clinging to Mac's shoulder.

“HEY, In _here_!” Mac shouted, looking back toward the door. Fig closed their eyes.

“Y-Y..You too..took a splinter fro..from my finger...” Fig gasped, trying to take normal big breaths in, their hands flexing against Mac's shoulders.

“A-..And I thought.. O-O..O-Oh no, n..Not him!” That made Mac laugh, a burst of laughter he didn't expect and he held Fig closer, pressing his face into their shoulder.

“Not me? Why not? You don't like my hat? What about my coat?” Mac gently jiggled Fig from side to side, trying to keep them conscious. Fig groaned, staring up at him and reaching out to touch his cheek with their icy hand.

“I t-t-thought you.. w-were so.. s-so... dumb... I liked y-you s-so.. so much right aw-w-way..” Fig laughed again, a choked sound. The door opened, a Minuteman Mac didn't know. He didn't know many of them.

“General here! They fell in the water.” Mac gestured, sitting up and then standing. He was fully naked, but stepped back to let the man grab for his med kit. He threw a blanket over himself, watching as Fig twisted toward him, shivering under the covers.

“Mac...” Fig looked up at him as the Minuteman cleaned a spot on their arm, “T-T..Take care of S-Shau..Shaun?” They stared up at him with a wobbling smile.

“Of course I will. You will too, you're fine. He's working on you. You're fine.”

* * *

_A bomb shook the house where Fig was having tea. They were wearing a pair of overalls embroidered with their name, the pockets stuffed with flowers. The windows were papered over with copies of Publick Occurrences. And the light that filtered through, it was golden and soft. Fig looked around. It was familiar, the house. The furniture was tacky. A big red velvet sofa and a plastic lamp shaped like a busty mermaid, red and green lights flashing on and off, left right left right._

_Preston was sitting on the couch, but he was wearing a fine blue suit. Fig reached for him. He turned into mist and stood up._

“ _Gotta go check out a settlement.”_

“ _Preston, wait. We're having tea.”_

_He walked through the wall._

_Fig turned, looking down at the table. It was laid for three places, but one was missing the cup, the plate, the spoon. Fig looked across the table. And smiled._

“ _Hi Babydoll.”_

“ _Hi Jamie.”_

_Their face was the same. Strong jaw, good eyebrows. Soft, curly black hair. A pink dress._

“ _You're dead, Jamie.”_

“ _I know.”_

“ _Am I dead?” Fig asked, lifting their teacup to their mouth. Not a teacup, a mug, stolen from The Third Rail. It was in the dish drainer in Diamond City, Fig knew that._

“ _Sort of.” Jamie smiled again and Fig smiled back._

_I_ _t was nice. This was nice._

“ _I found Shaun.”_

“ _I knew you would. You're stubborn.” Jamie grinned, a dimple in their cheek. Fig reached out, gently brushing their finger over Jamie's dimple._

“ _Look who is talking! You and that car.”_

“ _You loved that car.”_

“ _It cost an arm and a leg.”_

“ _We used it all the time.” Jamie was laughing but Fig could feel wetness on their cheeks. They were crying.  
_

_Another explosion shook the house and Fig could hear china breaking. Jamie stood, swishing their skirt out of the way as they cleared the table._

_Fig moved to help, but Jamie reached out, holding them down on the chair._

“ _I got it.”_

“ _I can help!”_

“ _It's okay, Babydoll. I got it.” Jamie winked. Fig fell in love again. The way they always did._

“ _I wanted to help.”_

“ _I know.” Jamie was throwing the dishes in the trash, just chucking them into the trash and letting them break into a thousand pieces. It looked like it felt good._

“ _I wanted to help you.”_

“ _I know.” Jamie was at their side then, sitting on the arm of the couch. Their hands wrapped around Fig's hands and they held on for a moment._

“ _You've got a long trip ahead of you. Did you bring your hat?” Jamie held up a hat. It was greenish gray. Two bullets tucked under the band. Fig tried to place the hat, but they couldn't focus on it. It disappeared from Jamie's hand._

“ _Trip?”_

“ _Got your keys? Your wallet?”_

“ _I'm not going anywhere, Jamie. I'm right here.” Fig rubbed Jamie's hand to their cheek. It was icy cold. Fig shivered._

_Jamie smiled again, kissing Fig on the mouth. Fig could taste lipstick, romance. Love. It was a good kiss._

“ _You gotta go now, Baby.”_

“ _I miss you, Jamie.”_

“ _I miss you too.”_

“ _I love you.”_

“ _I love you too.”_

* * *

Fig woke with a gasp.

The barn was dark and quiet. Nothing was exploding. There were no screaming men or mirelurks. Fig was dressed in spare clothes, an unfamiliar shirt, pants, socks. Bandages up and down one arm. They looked around, rubbing a hand over their face. Clarey was in one bed, his leg bandaged. He was asleep. Stockard was in the other, awake. She was staring at the ceiling, a livid purple bruise on her jaw.

Fig turned their head, looking to the side. In the cot beside theirs, Preston was laying. He looked uncomfortable, his head bandaged, his arm strapped to his chest in a sling.

Between their beds, Mac was sleeping, sitting up in a chair. He had his arms crossed over his chest, head drooped down. He was snoring. 

Fig slowly settled down, staring up at the ceiling far above. They could hear men talking outside, the guard, the watch.. Fig shifted, rolling to face Preston. They reached out, touching his good arm, pressing their cold fingers to his shoulder. He blinked his eyes open, looking down first at Fig's hand and then across the miles of space between them to their face. 

“Hey.” He rasped. He sounded awful. His hand came up, covering theirs. 

“Did I die?” They breathed, curling their hand tightly around his.

“Uh, for a minute, I think.” He murmured, blinking his eyes a couple of times.

“Oh.” Fig breathed.

“It was hours ago. Your heart stopped. During the uh, big fight. It's over.. Clarey got the siren thing working. Drove them away. We got the queen though. I got my bell rung when I tried to restart the generator. Big electrical zap and I hit my head." His voice was uneven, soft. Fig stared into his dark eyes, feeling the world around them shift like they were under water. 

"You died."

"I did." Preston breathed. 

Fig nodded. Preston glanced over at Mac, seeing him still asleep between the two of them.

"He was worried." Preston murmured. Fig nodded again, their body aching, sore and heavy. 

"I'm glad you're okay." Fig breathed. 

* * *

Fig woke again. They were someplace new. 

At the North end of the island, they had set up small apartments in the old shipping containers. At least three of them were furnished and Fig apparently was tucked into one. They stretched, feeling warm and dizzy. Something tightened around their waist and Fig turned their head, seeing Mac's face, his body tucked up under the covers beside them. 

"Mac." Fig breathed. His eyes flew open and he sat up, looking around in bleary confusion.

"You're okay?" He rasped, clearing his throat a little. Fig let out a shy laugh, staring at him. He had rough stubble on his face. 

"I'm okay." They reached up, tugging him back down into the blankets. They knit their fingers through his hair, drawing him closer to press kisses to his skin. Fig kissed him softly, shivering and opening their mouth under his. He groaned. It sounded nice on him. 

“Fig... Wait... Fig, I need.. I gotta talk to you.” He said softly. Fig tensed up a little, looking at him. 

“Okay.”

“I.. uh... I...” He said, struggling, clearly. Fig leaned up, kissing him again. He kissed them back, but pulled away, his cheeks red.

“I got.. I have money saved. I have a feeler out for a homestead... And... And I.. I'm leaving Boston. Uh, for good.” He breathed, clenching his hands around Fig's hands. They slid back on the cot, almost falling off.

“What?” Their voice was sharp. Fig struggled, limping out of bed and standing in the cold room.

“You're what?” They repeated.

“Daisy knows someone out in Vegas area and--” Mac started, still sitting in the bed. Fig turned, grabbing a coat off of the hook by the door. Their boots were long gone, so they stole MacCready's, stepping into them. The early morning was bracing, but it had warmed up enough to snow.

“General.” One of the Minutemen saluted, but Fig blew past him, heading down the ramp from the container apartments. They were walking quickly for the boat launch. Mac followed, ignoring his coat, rushing out in his socks after Fig. 

“Fig!”

“You're leaving!” Fig whirled on him, grabbing the front of Mac's shirt and hauling him with them toward the boat launch. There was a lantern lit inside, the wind cut by the walls. His feet slipped over the ice and he half hopped, wincing with each step.

“Duncan can't stay here. This place is hell on his lungs. We didn't get a lot of snow in DC and he's really.. He's struggling here.” He grabbed Fig's forearms, trying to hold them back from jumping into one of the waiting boats. 

“Of course he is! The air quality is terrible and the weather is really bad. I fucking HATE it here!” Fig snarled, pushing him back to stand on one of the raised wooden lattices to save his feet. They roughly warmed his hands between theirs. 

“You hate it here?”

“Of course I do! It's _Boston_!”

“W..Why are you mad...?”

“Mac, aren't I important to you?” Fig shook him a little. Mac held onto their forearms, trying to steady Fig on their feet.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you keep making these.. decisions without me! Just telling me you're going! When?”

“In a few months... March?”

“Jesus Christ, Mac! I love you! I think about you like.. Like my partner? And You're gonna move off to God knows where and what, send me a letter once a year?”

Mac's face colored and he swallowed hard, holding onto Fig.

“I wanted to tell you.” He looked at them, feeling.. feeling...

“Come with me.”

“Come with you?” Fig stared at him through teary eyes.

“Come with me!”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

“People need me here...” Fig breathed, feeling stupid about saying it.

“You hate Boston. You're.. you're not.. you're going to work yourself to death out here. They're never going to let you live. You're always doing something for someone else. And you don't delegate tasks. It's why we're having this fight on a frozen dock instead of on the roof of your house in front of sixty nosy people.” Mac carefully guided Fig from the edge of the pier back toward a pile of lobster traps and netting, helping them sit. He knelt in front of them.

“I thought my stupid life was over when Lucy died. And I was going to keep going until something took me out. And then you came around and you were so annoying and I thought, ' _Oh no, not them_ '.” He said softly, slipping his hands inside of Fig's coat, warming them on their sides. Fig felt a lump they couldn't swallow down and had to look away from him.

“And I was just doing my best to die by Wasteland and you, with your singing and your splinter and your nicknames...” Mac added, drawing Fig closer and looking up at their flushed face.

“I can't live here with you. But I can't live out there without you... Come with me, Fig. Fig Burns. Not the Minuteman General. Not a secret agent. Not the Savior of the Commonwealth. Fig Burns the person I like very much... Bring your weird kid with you and let's go someplace new.”

Fig couldn't help the little tears creeping down their cheeks and Mac lifted a hand to wipe them away.

“Who else is gonna call me Ratman? Or sing when they're bandaging my leg? Or make my kid smile? Who else am I gonna save twice a week? Or make dinner for? Or talk to? Who could take your place?” Mac whispered, leaning up, pressing a kiss first to Fig's cheek, to the place where their tears had fallen, and then to their mouth.

“Say yes.. Come with me...”

“MacCready..” Fig's voice wobbled, their hands on his shoulders. More tears fell, streaking their skin and Fig felt more at sea than they had in a long time.

“Fig, I love you.” He whispered, his hand finally coming up and touching the scar on the side of their face.

“Let me take care of you someplace new.” He leaned up, kissing Fig once more, a slow, gentle kiss. Fig's hand gently curled around the side of his neck and they kissed him right back.

“Okay.” They whispered.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.. Let's go on an adventure..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER BUT THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fig gets the thing they have always wanted.

“What the hell is that?”

“It's a dog, Pop!”

“It's a snake.”

“Nightstalker, Pop!”

The two of them are standing on a porch, hot wind blowing over them. They are just north of Goodsprings, the house a small clapboard affair at the top of a hill, but at the bottom of the hill, the trading post that the two adults run. Between them, a fenced area housing several docile Bighorners.

The older man is wearing a distinctive hat and holding a hunting rifle, as if he's really going to shoot an animal his kid brings home. His kid is dressed like all the kids dress, a black jacket and a black and white striped shirt. They're grinning, black hair and a pair of thick glasses.

The Nightstalker has laid down, resting their head on their paws.

“Oh, sweet! A dog!” A pre teen kid bounds up onto the porch. He has a country accent that nobody else in the family has. He says 'dog' like 'dawg'. He reaches for the dog, gently petting his smooth face with scarred hands.

“What a dog. Good looking out, Sunshine.” The younger kid smiles up at their sibling and earns a brilliant grin right back. They are partners in crime. The big one reads to the little one, still. 

“You gonna train this uh.. Snake.. dog?” Their old man is scratching his jaw, watching the two kids eagerly pet the new creature. Sunshine is constantly bringing pets home. This is nothing new. They've never brought home a dog before though... 

“Snog?” Duncan scratches his head. 

“Sn..uppy.” Sunshine shrugs, looking at their brother.

“SNUPPY!” Duncan bellows, throwing both arms over his head. Maccready's head drops down with a groan and he sits back down in his chair.

“What'll ya' name it, Sunny?” Duncan sits on the top step, gently petting the dog's face.

“I think Baba will know. They always know."

“Of course they'll _know_. I already _know_ what we're naming the dog. Everyone on the East Coast _knows_ what we're naming the damn dog. This is the same conversation we've been having for seven years.” MacCready sighs, his fate sealed.

The kids exchange a sly grin.

“OH, there they are! I hear bells!” Duncan jumps up and dives down the hill, running toward the gate at the bottom of the property. Sunshine and Mac can hear him shouting as he runs, pausing once or twice to cough, but still shouting.

They can make out the words “Dog”, “Butthead”, “Snake”, “Pops”. Sunshine throws a pleased smile MacCready's way and he lets out a low laugh, covering his face with both hands.

In a matter of minutes, Duncan arrives, holding the hand of a slender person in overalls. Their head is shaved, their tattoo is stark. They are grinning. MacCready feels his heart leap against his ribs. 

“Ohhhh, big boy.” Fig gasps, crouching down and extending a hand to the dog.

“Oh, I love him already.” They smile at their kids and then at their partner.

“Fig.”

“Mac.”

“Fig...”

“Mac!” Fig grins, standing to lean over the porch railing to press a kiss to his mouth. He kisses them back, resigning himself to his destiny.

“I think we should name the dog--”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

“RJ!” Fig's voice is triumphant, echoing off the red rocks and sage, the dirt on their shoes and the clear, perfectly blue sky above their heads. Mac's hand closes around Fig's hand and they are smiling at him. He smiles back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooooh boy okay. So I am really proud of this. It might not be the most detailed and the timeline is so weird and I am still looking at things and thinking I SHOULD FIX THAT. But this is the first thing I have ever had an end for in my mind. I've never finished a piece of writing before and I FINISHED THIS. Before 2021. So, hell yeah. If you read this and you liked it, thank you for leaving Kudos. If you read this and thought it was stupid, thank you for reading it. To bubonic Johnson, your comments kept me going. Thank you for that. To avery, thank you for reading it first and letting me know that my original Shaun was a creepy baby (he was). Thank you all so much. Hopefully 2021 will be marginally less shitty and we all get everything we've ever wanted and deserved.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this bad playlist I made. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2MhGnqPZImc3kwjTKRbhSa


End file.
